D'yaebls Aep An Blathe Bloed Eate
by AlexanderRavana
Summary: It all began with a few questionable gifts, the bloody Witchers words still ringing in Iorveths ears. But where the journey would take him, that he did not expect. Beliefs are torn apart and impossible friendships forged. Accompany Iorveth on his way and see for yourself. Cover art credit goes to the amazing Servia-D on DeviantArt (Revisions underway)
1. Prologue

**Setting.**

 **A small Tavern on the outskirts of Vizima, about 5 or 6 months before the events of Witcher 3 take place.**

* * *

Burning, cleansing, suspiciously oily and utterly gross all in one. Iorveth stared down into the murky depths of old tankard gloomily, and had to wonder _Why in the seven bloede swine sucking hells am I drinking this bloody ratpiss anyway? And how did I end up in a rat loving dive like this in the first place? "Bloede easily as I recall. First ye followed a halfwitted dragon in her naive vision to bring all the races together in perfect harmony, then ye went and bloede well enslaved yourself to the vatt'ghern, do ye really need any more reminders of what lead ye to this place Vethy boy?"_ He heard the familiar mocking voice, a voice from his past... Belonging to another dead face.

 _Oh right,_ he thought bitterly as he forced another few mouthfuls of the cheap vodka down his throat _thats why._

He had started years ago, to numb the ill-advising voices in his head, which screamed hue and cry, and warned him of the self-destructive path he chose. Though that said there was quite a bit of disagreement between the voices on just what the self-destructive bits comprised of.

Some of the voices were in favor of the old ways he had embraced so readily during the last invasion of Nilfgaard, some had always believed that the Scoia'Tael should stand alone apart from the humans, and others still favored the complete opposite of both strategies, adhering to the way Saskia had shown to him.

Iorveth himself however, had taken to the path of ignoring the voices altogether and silencing them the most effective ways available to him, so that he could concentrate fully on the road ahead of him. Normally he utilized a special tea brewed from a mix of camomile or 'camel root' beggartick, and krathom, however it was somewhat difficult to find them growing close together, and the war was making it outright dangerous to search for them, particularly with the fisstech trade exploding as it was. So vodka it was for him for the time being, he needed something to quell the demons in his head, and while far from ideal, it would do the job.

And it was a job that surely needed doing. He needed focus on the fight somehow, he was doing this for his people after all, for all those who suffered from the suppression of the Dh'oinne filth.

And alright, perhaps a just a little for himself. It was easier to focus on the tasks he'd been given, rather than on his sorrow-laden heart, and the... rejection he'd suffered.

Staring grumpily at the Peppervodka in his hand he cringed noticeably before chugging down another large gulp of the questionable brew, his good eye glaring daggers at the innkeeper who wasn't looking back all too friendly himself.

With the war with Nilfgaard on people had other things to worry about than a notorious Scoia'tael leader. But even so he still got nervous in such places, and outright hostile gazes sometimes unsettled even him.

Even so he needed to rest his aching arse for a few minutes in a warm place, and get some half-decent... or at least edible food into his stomach. He had been on horseback for days on end now, stopping by here and there and taking on some local odd jobs to make a few crowns... or even the now nearly worthless orens that had been Temeria's currency before the current madness struck.

Iorveth fingered a single oren with the old king's face roughly carved onto it. _Bloede coin is almost as useless as the king was now._ That said he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse, at the sight of the old king's face. Thing's hadn't been great by any stretch of the imagination under the old king, but at least he would have respected the people of Aedirn's decision to support Saskia as their monarch.

Now, with the Emperor of Nilfgaard in charge there truly was no telling just how things would go down, and all he could realistically do was just hope for the best.

It was countless times worse than the life in the woods around Flotsam, back with his commando. Harsh times surely, but at least he'd had a purpose that he had a realistic chance of fulfilling, even if he wasn't particularly thrilled about it.

Iorveth absentmindedly stroked the medallion at his neck, ignoring the glances and puzzled looks it garnered from the other patrons as they recognized what it symbolized, but wisely kept their traps shut.

He held it up to the light and examined it for what felt like the hundredth time. It got him thinking, to that rather fateful day a couple months back.

* * *

 **Three and a half days after the events at Loc Muinne.**

It had been a surprisingly peaceful few days, after the gruesome events of the summit. Events which had left even Iorveth with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, though he showed nothing of it in his features.

He had seen far too much of the same happen, time and time again over the centuries for any new lines of distress to sprout upon his features.

No he had other, far greater concerns to do that instead.

Together he and Geralt guided the mage back to the fickle safety of Vergen's stone walls, so she could rest and find back to strength. The elf did not trust her. It was nothing personal really, he didn't trust mages in general since the sterile witch Findabair had lead a good number of their people into enslaved ruin, and particularly not after the events that had just taken place with Eilhart. But he was placated by Geralt's calm voice. "She's a good person. I trust her, elf." He had said with that intent stare of his, so calm, so full of himself. As always. And behind that Iorveth could see more, could see the affection...the love he carried for her even if he himself wasn't entirely aware of it.

"You better be sure of that, Gwynbleidd. Else I'll come for your bloody white head and this time I'll make sure for it to be mounted nicely on my wall." The elf's voice was low and dangerous, but with no real bite to it.

Iorveth knew that Triss had been a victim in this, But still one could never be sure what she had done beforehand, how deep she had her hands in the shit. Geralt had had no answer to that but a dark stare and the elf knew that she left him in the dark often enough to make him wonder that himself.

But if he trusted his mage, Iorveth wouldn't object. Especially since now the day of the parting came, each of them going their own ways. And while the Witcher had a set goal and grim determination Iorveth had nothing but uncertainty.

That is until the frowning vatt'ghern thrust a heavy leather pack into his arms the next morning, silently motioning for him to open it with an incoherent grunt that the elf had learned meant 'for you'. That elicited a half-smile from Iorveth, he always found himself unexpectedly amused by the Witcher's taciturny in most matters. But the smile vanished and a frown replaced it when his slender fingers pulled at the leather strings that held the package together and he glimpsed what lay inside "Is this supposed to be an example of your bloede dh'oinne humor? If it is you can shove it up your white arse." He growled and was about to shove the pack back into Geralt's hands but he just grunted, his eyes shining with humor. "Look under it, elf." He just said, his voice tense as if holding back a chuckle.

Geralt was well used to the elfs hot blooded personality by now and mostly spared himself from a barbed retort since he'd learned that it would only make things worse and often ended with a pointy arrow or a sharp blade against his throat... though to be fair it also ended with the tip his own dagger digging into Iorveth's kidneys at the exact same moment, along with the hook he hung his trophies resting point first against the elf's carotid.

The elf's frown did not waver as he pushed the contents of the bag aside and grabbed the piece of parchment that was under it. Iorveth squinted a tad as he examined the drawings and written text, and abruptly he understood what it was, though he still failed to grasp the meaning behind it all. "Gwynbleidd..." He growled, his tone still rather annoyed, though he was feeling more perplexed than anything else at this point.

Iorveth was not sure why but the man looked uncomfortable and broke their eye contact for a second. "What the schematic is for is clear, but I must ask this favor of you, elf." He murmured brusquely, a serious look upon his features. "I know you have nothing left tying you here and you'll be leaving soon just the same as me, and that you're tied to some of the best craftsmen in the business, people who'll likely have the skill and knowledge required to replicate or at least repair these items. And since you'll be doing an awful lot of traveling in the near future I was thinking you might find someone to see to these items for me. My own path takes me far, but I doubt I'll have the time required to give these these things the attention they require, the path leads me to... other tasks, obligations if you will. Obligations which I can't put aside... no matter how painful they may be." The Witcher stared imploringly at the elf and there was also a hint of demand in his eyes. A demand he could allow himself, Iorveth knew.

Even so, he wasn't entirely convinced he should truly go out of his way to meet the dh'oinne's ridiculous demand, and was about to say as much when Geralt once more cut him off, much to his annoyance. "You know the value of the gear Iorveth, at least as far as the schematic goes. And you know just how effective it is. If not for me, then at the very least you should seek out one who is capable of replicating it for yourself,"

Iorveth's eye widened a fraction at the thought. He did indeed know the value and effectiveness of the gear, at least as far as the type the schematic could be used to create, and it was definitely not something to be scoffed at to be sure. Seeing the understanding in Iorveth's gaze the bloody vatt'ghern smiled, damn him, knowing that he had solidly hooked the elf at this point "and if there should happen to be a surpluss of materials on hand, well then..." Geralt shrugged, trailing off, leaving silence and the elf's brain to fill in the gaps, as he knew they would and the smirk on his features made the elf want to slap him a good one, but he knew this was too good an opportunity to pass up, so instead he quelled his urge for violence and nodded resignedly.

"A fine bloede trade, Gwynbleidd. I will see what I can do." He said curtly. Geralt seemed relieved and smiled. grabbing the elf's forearm tightly in his. Iorveth returned the gesture and with their hands on each others necks they rested their foreheads together in a gesture of camaraderie and friendship.

"Take care, Geralt. And make sure you don't get your white arse killed. I've got a claim on your head." He jested, though managed to weave a serious note into his voice.

The Witcher laughed and shook his head slightly, yellow cat eyes fond and determined. "Wouldn't dream of it, elf." He simply said, his eyes telling more than his lips ever would.

They talked over the details of what was required, the of origin the items, about what little the vatt'ghern understood of the construction, and the parts necessary, along with some idle smalltalk, but everything that needed to be said had already been said, and in the end what was left was rather meaningless chatter to pass the time.

Sighing Iorveth looked over his shoulder at the heavy bundle and shook his head, already thinking about the weeks to come. About how he wouldn't be able to find peace, or rest.

And with those thoughts he started to feel a little world-weary, the hardships he was burdened with suddenly appearing to be more of a struggle than they had been before. And he knew he needed something... a task he could focus on not unlike that which the vatt'ghern had just provided. But more than that he needed a cause, something he could live and fight for... something he could possibly find in the quest to fulfill the Witcher's request. _A fact that was no doubt first and foremost in the bloody witcher's mind no doubt._ He thought amusedly. _Nothing escapes those cat eyes._

He departed not long after the White Wolf, after having said his rather formal goodbyes to Saskia, queen of Upper Aedirn. It had pained Iorveth, to leave her behind and he couldn't conceal the longing in his moss-green eye as he stared into her dark blue eyes, as deep as the stormy sea and almost black. He could've lost himself in these sapphire stars... But it was not be, apparently. Almost apologetic in her demeanor, she fought off the silent pleas that swam in the elf's single soulful gaze, as if she was willing but something held her back.

"Farewell lady Saskia, my Queen... Saesenthesis. I have no doubt that you will lead these lands to prosperity, a tide of change that will sweep to many other kingdoms hopefully." Iorveth announced rather formally, but held her hand rather longer than needed, and swiped the curt bow of a warrior, her hand raised in front of his face during. How much would he have loved to be able to kiss the soft skin on the back of that hand, to caress it with lips and see her blush. But he stuck to etiquette mostly, knowing it would have done him no good to give into desire now.

Still, his heart felt heavy when he left her quarters and made his way to the stables of the city, his knapsack already packed with the few belongings he possessed and saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

The slowly setting sun shone warm on his scarred features and Iorveth closed his eye for a moment, enjoying the comforting warmth that seeped into his old bones.

With a twitching nose he opened his eye once more when the familiar scent of hay and horse tickled his senses.

Making his way over the stable and to the horse that awaited him, he stroked the soft muzzle and murmured soft nonsense to the old steed. With perked ears it pushed against his chest and then cheek with a soft snuffle.

It brought the cloth covering his eye into disarray and eventually it fell to the ground altogether, revealing short raven hair and the horrible scar disfiguring a whole side of his face.

"Careful, Tirth." He murmured and gently pushed the war horse's head away. Iorveth preferred to cover the mark of his shame, reminder of pain and hate, and he did not too care much if people he trusted saw it. Here though it made him uneasy and he went to pick the red cloth up fast but a gloved hand got the drop on him and snatched it away before he could. And that simple gesture was enough to ignite fury in the old elfs dark heart. Quickly he stood tall, his fist rising to make contact with the strangers face but a strong hand caught his punch almost effortlessly and now Iorveth finally saw the one standing there with his bandana in hand, and he growled in irritation. "Gwynbleidd? What the hell are you doing here, you should've been gone already." He said, his words flying from his lips heatedly since the anger in him hasn't quite settled yet. "Don't stand there like a bloede oaf, give it here!" The elf exclaimed exasperatedly and pulled the piece of cloth from Geralt's hands with a little more force than strictly necessary.

The Witcher smirked, putting up his hands in a placating gesture, trying not to laugh. "Who would have thought, the feared leader of the Scioa'tael, touchier than a wench when she loses her silken glove." He said, unable not to hide his amusement. Iorveth moved like the cobra he so admired and struck out, his fist colliding with Geralt's jaw with a sharp *crack* in one fluid movement. "When you're done being a pain in my arse could you grant me the courtesy of informing me why you're here!" Iorveth snarled, quickly snatching his scarf back, while Geralt rubbed at his jaw and gave the elf a thoughtful stare.

Finally he muttered to himself, going over and pulling the saddle & bridle from a rack next to the stable. "There is something I forgot to give you. It will be of use to you when tracking monsters and power sources. Also, don't forget about th-" "Bloede hellfire! Shut it about that damnable blade will you? You told me at least a thousand times that I have to keep it charged. I know it vhatt'ghern. I swear my ears will fall of you say it one more time." The Witcher waved the infuriated elf off and rummaged in his pouch, though his fist itching to give hotblooded whoreson he called a friend some payback. Yet, there was no time for a real full on brawl and what was the saying? The wiser head gives in? "Here. I have no use for it any longer and carrying it with me only makes memories surface that I'd sooner see buried and forgotten." Geralt grunted and tossed the shining object at the elf who had just finished prepping his horse. Catching it reflexively he looked down in wonder at the extremely rare pendant in his hands. A Witcher amulet of the wolf school, just like Geralt's.

"I've never heard of such an amulet being given to one outside of the order." The elf said faintly and looked up at the man who had just tossed this invaluable gift at him. "Well, there's a first time for everything right?" Geralt countered lightly and nodded into the direction of Iorveths neck. "Put it on. Best keep it on your skin, or you might not feel the warning vibrations." Iorveth chuckled, putting the clasp of the medallion around his neck, and letting it slip insto his armor to rest against his chest just as Geralt had suggested. He knew there was no point in arguing with the man, not when it came to these things, so he accepted the gift without complaint. "Vibrations huh? Has me wondering what else you Witchers use these amulets for." Geralt chuckled but gave no comment. And before long the White Wolf mounted his horse who had previously been browsing peacefully, and looked none too happy at being disturbed. Nodding his goodbye Geralt took off into the sunset where Triss was waiting for him on a pale mare of her own. Together they disappeared behind some hills and leaving the Aen Seidhe behind.

Shaking his head he fastened the saddle bags and pack he had received earlier from the vatt'ghern to his saddle and climbed atop his own stocky battle worn mare, and took off into a uncertain future with nothing but the clothes on his body and the dark fire in his heart.

 **[Present]**

Savoring the fire now his throat, he slugged down the last of the alleged "vodka" slamming the mug down on the flat, worn surface of the hardwood bar and thrust his chin at the innkeeper, his empty fictile cup already sliding over the wood towards the feisty man.

With a sour face he refilled the cup and slammed it down in front of the elf. "You better be able to pay this, knife-ear." Iorveth growled, his eye nothing but an infuriated slit now.

"Bloede gláeddyv shlogtha dh'oine!" Take your coin and leave me be." He snarled impatiently thrusting the coins forth and across the tabletop where they were promptly snatched away by the greasey innkeeper and counted pointedly before they made their way into a greasy purse. Without another glance the dh'oine scurried off and tended to other patrons, leaving the elf be much to his delight.

He swirled the suspicious drink around, just hoped things would all settle soon and fall in place.

 **Author's note**

 **The Grinning Psychopath: Elder speech translation, "bloede gláeddyv shlogtha dh'oine!" In effect this means something akin to Bloody sword swallowing human.**

 **Vatt'ghern means Witcher**

 **The Grinning Psychopath: Gwynbleidd, is the elvish name of Geralt, which means White Wolf. Though if you played the first game, its likely you woulda already have known that from talking with the dryad... unless you were too busy staring at her green bush, which is... rather understandable admittedly heh.**

 _AlexanderRevana: So, this is just the beginning brought to you by 'The Grinning Psychopath' and my humble self._

 _Feedback is, as always, highly appreciated so don't be shy about it and keep an eye out for updates which are soon to come!_


	2. Of Lanced Rats & Bitter Camelroot Tales

Iorveth sighed as he set aside the medallion and looked glumly towards the kitchen, where he could just glimpse a tadbit of what dinner was going to be. He hadn't been exaggerating when he called this place a rat-loving hovel and the skewered, still vaguely wriggling forms roasting over the flames were more than enough proof of enough of the fact... unwanted as it may be.

He was about to seek peace in the depths of his mug once more when the drunken slurs of some rowdy peasants took him out of his reverie.

"Hey chicky, take off th' hood an' let us see yer pretty f-face." A common sight in such a drinking hole, Iorveth knew. Dh'oine doing what they did best, acting like the mindless apes they are.

Furrowing his brow he glanced around in the room, the heavy and oily fumes in the small taproom making it hard to see what was going on exactly. With his eye squinted he made out the shapes of four men, all besieging a woman who was trying too hard to be inconspicuous. She sat on her chair with a stiff back and tried to sip her beer in indifference. He couldn't make out much more, other dh'oine trampled into his line of view and shielded the pestering filth from his sight.

It was impossible to say if the woman under that hood was a kinswoman or a human and that was what kept Iorveth for going straight for the apes, until one of them got exasperated with the blatant reluctance of the woman and grabbed roughly for the hood shielding her face from their greedy eyes.

Iorveth could only make out a flash of pale skin and a lock of white hair in the second it took her to grab the arm of the guy and push him back with an impressive amount of force. The lad seemed disorientated first but then anger took over in his drunk haze and he squared his shoulders.

"Don'tcha play any f-... foul games y'bitch!" He growled and raised his hand to strike her.

That was when the elf decided that he could not wait any longer. Aen Seidhe or not, with what he had seen she definitely roused his interest and curiosity.

Coming to stand in front of the still stoically sitting woman he put a hand on the hilt of his sword and looked directly into the eyes of the attacker, the sparkling green of his eye frozen and cold with fury and disgust.

"Keep your hands to yourself, dh'oine filth. Though I feel the lady can take care of herself, your uncontrolled flailing threatens to disturb my drinking, not to mention the other fine lasses of this... 'establishment'." Iorveth spoke with biting mockery and successfully managed to derive the thugs attention from the mysterious woman.

"Ahhh look boys, who d'we got 'ere eh? A fucking knife-ear not knowin' 'is place eh? Crawl back where y'came from ye piece o' dogshite." The peasant growled, clearly having issues to speak and keep his eyes trained on the elfs face in what he thought was an intimidating expression.

A half smile tugged at Iorveths lips and he crossed his arms, standing a little taller than the thug before him feeling so brave with his friends behind his back. He'd love to slit up their bellies but knew that would only rouse unwanted attention, attention he did not need right now.

"I don't think so, peasant. Now let the Lady enjoy her drink and be on your way." Iorveth said, his voice deadly calm and all traces of mockery wiped away. Sadly the idiots were too drunk already to really heed the warning in the veterans voice, their leader laughing with malice.

"Think we back away from an elf, huh? Well think 'gain ye tree fucker. Maybeeee we gotta beat some sense into 'is hollow brain eh? Whatcha think boys?" Of course no one objected, mutual hate as much a factor in this heated situation as alcohol.

Their little tiff didn't take place unnoticed of course and all too soon a small crowd of rubbernecks has gathered around them.

Witch a quick glance over his shoulder Iorveth noticed that the woman was gone. "Oh fantastic." He thought to himself sarcastically, having hoped she would be at his side in this since it seemed that she wasn't really incapable when it came to dealing with unwanted attention physically.

But now he had rode himself deep into the shit and getting out without exchanging a few punches wasn't an option.

For any more thoughts he had no time since one of the pavienn already charged at him, his eyes intent on more than just a brawl.

Iorveth realized that they were intent on more, on a lot more. Their eyes screamed murder and their faces were twisted into disgusting visages of bloodlust, that the peasants around them were cheering them on to 'Rip apart the filth!' wasn't helping apparently.

Once again he was sickened by the brutish dh'oine behaviour, once again his hate bubbled up, hate that made him justify to burn down their villages, to kill men, women, children and elders alike. To eradicate them from the surface of this world just like the humans would do to his people. Even if it made him no better.

He struck out, with all the precision and speed of a cobra, successfully nailing one of the drunk's in nose, which gave under his fist with a quite satisfactory crunching sound.

One of the D'hoinne lashed out with a comically bad punch which Iorveth easily sidestepped, and countered with a stiff jab to a particularly painful pressure point near the armpit and the drunk fell shrieking to the ground.

The thick air, the bunch of people and his thoughts were making it hard for the elf to navigate however and two of his attackers managed to grab his arms, readying and holding him in place for the hail of blows that's about to pour down on him.

For a moment the world around Iorveth went still, devoid of sound and sight as he was catapulted back into dark chapters of his past that made the horrid scar on his face burn with memorized pain.

Arms holding him down, just like that. Gloating faces and gleeful laughter as they beat him into heaving puddle of shame and endless agony, without mercy. Without remorse.

Snapping an eye open he did not remember to have shut the elf roared, fury and instinct taking over him as he twisted his body and kicked out behind him, making one of his captors fly against the close wall with a cry of pain and a sick 'thud'. Dead? Alive? Iorveth did not care, in fact the hoped they would croak pitifully slow.

The remaining men did not expected this and backed away somewhat fear in their gaze as they caught the look in his eye. Iorveth saw, and smiled as he became his own small force of nature. His movements were fast and held a practiced ease, though an experienced eye would notice slight inconsistencies and a near mechanical stiffness due to old injuries and age.

Iorveth would have pummeled them all to death if it weren't for the strange woman showing up once more catching one attacker coming up on his blindside with a club in hand mid-swing. throwing him over her hip and slamming him into the ground in front of Iorveth with enough force to make the floor creak.

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and she nodded towards the door with urgency, and somehow her touch calmed him, it felt familiar somehow though he was quite sure he'd never set eyes on the woman before in his life. His facial muscles relaxed and eased away the vicious snarl that had been edged into his features while memory took over him. Looking around a little bewildered he was pleased to see the dh'oine backing away from him and letting them go without any more complications.

He knew he had to leave the place immediately, but he didn't care anymore, not wishing to stay another minute in this damned rotten place.

The pair quickly made their way to the stables, carefully avoiding any guards, or any other drunken wretches that might cause them trouble.

Wasting no time in readying the mounts they set off for the hills. Iorveth was used to riding off in the night, as was his mount. So he knew what to look for, his sharp eye glancing back and forth like a hawk's, carefully avoiding the places that were certain to hold some kind of danger for him and his horse.

The woman and her horse weaved and twisted about just as adeptly, obviously accustomed to it as well, yet another curious thing about her. Like dark wraiths they shot over the treacherous surface, only their skill and experience preventing them from riding into their death. They didn't slow down their steeds until the lights of the town had been swallowed by the inky black night, Iorveth being the first to calm his horse. "Fod yn dawel, anhedda`." The elf murmured gently, steering his animal towards the woman's who was likewise slowing and to her credit soothing her own animal.

Iorveth patted his mare soothingly on the head, and scratched her behind her ragged ears tenderly. She was an old war horse, who'd been with him a good long time indeed, not as spry as she used to be sure, but she was used to enduring his exploits, and he found her steadfast reliability to be more reassuring than the pure speed of the younger mares.

He turned to see what his dh'oine companion was up to, and saw her doing much similar to her own stallion, who was formidable beast to be sure. A hulking black creature, with dark, malevolent eyes... Iorveth had seen eyes just like those once before... around 4 or 5 months ago perhaps, in the woods of Flotsam, overshadowed by a ridiculous ratty black hat. Iorveth made a mental note not to get anywhere near the bloede thing.

She noticed his gaze almost immediately, but remained silent, preferring to focus on tending to her own mount, not wanting to be the first to bring discord to the temporary peace of the moment after the chaos they'd just narrowly escaped from. Finally Iorveth decided to break the silence, "Well, you're bloede quiet for a dh'oine, I expected you'd of demanded an introduction at this point." Her body language gave away that she was in fact rather weary, but not afraid oddly enough. "I've seen a face akin to yours before," she replied calmly, "all over on posters that promised good coin to whomsoever delivers your head." She said with a voice that spoke of mischief and not really any bad intentions. Still, Iorveth tensed, ready for any sort of attack that never came. "And since there aren't many elves with a scar and a headscarf quite like yours, I assume you must be Iorveth. Am I right?" It wouldn't make sense to deny his identity when it was as obvious as it simply is so he nodded simply, not trusting himself to speak at the moment for a very curious sensation tickled the back of his head. Iorveth would have known if she had cast a spell on him, no, it was something completely different, something much more subtle and natural.

He didn't allow himself to dwell on it, and instead nodded, feeling just a tad embarrassed, strangely enough that she knew about the bounty on his head. She smiled brightly over at him, "Then we're already introduced, no need to go into anymore specifics, why we're practically like family at this point"

With that bright smile of her's in plain view, even as dark as it was he felt his subtle hostility towards her and the sharp distrust ebb, replaced instead with mild irritation and a strange sense of belonging. And while the distrust hadn't been banished entirely, it's sharp edges had smoothed somewhat, "And yet I am entirely unaware as to what to call you, so I would hardly refer to us as family," he replied in a wry tone of voice, with just a hint of irritation hardening accenting his words "It is only fair now for you to reveal yourself, adhering to simple customs of mutual respect."

She chuckled and looked up just a tad, allowing him to see the shadowy outline of her face. "Is it truly? I did not asked you to reveal your name to me. It was lucky coincidence that I learned of it." Iorveth already bristled but she continued before he could say something rude. "But, while I would disagree with the bit about family knowing what to call each other, you are right I suppose that it is only fair that we converse on even ground. So, you may call me Ciri." She spoke and pulled the hood off her hair.

The moon was mostly hidden behind thick, dark clouds but the light that was allowed to touch the earth was still enough to make her white hair obvious, silvery now in the pale light. Next thing he noticed were her eyes, a sparkling, vivid green. Almost mystic in their glow and beyond alluring. Following the contours of her face with his eye he tilted his head, the pull on his mouth showing his wonder when he took in the scar on her left cheek. All in all her appearence was quite unique, and he was certain he'd never encountered her before, yet still he could almost swear that if he just looked closely enough he could-

A frown soon edged her nicely shaped lips, obviously somewhat uneasy with his gaze, and Iorveth shook himself as he noticed his faux pas.

He did not know what it was, but something about her made him feel at ease, as if he'd known her for a while now. "Ciri, then." He smiled a half-smile and cocked his head as he nudged his horse into a relaxed gait.

"What, no thanks for me rescuing you from those bloede bastards? I risked my neck back there. And that for a dh'oine."

The elfs voice was mockery and Ciri answered just the same, her smile biting. "I hardly needed your help Ser. Can't remember asking for it. Scum like they are nothing, and you are hardly a knight in shining armor... If that metaphor is even still applicable." She sounded just a tad insecure in the end, honestly she still had no full idea of what was going on, but the elf didn't need to know that.

Iorveth shook his head, glancing at Ciri riding next to him, and resisting the urge to stare into her features once again, though only barely.

"What's your destination? It looks as though we share the same path." Ciri looked up and shrugged. "I won't be on this road for long, my... interests take me elsewhere. But we can share a fire tonight. The wilds as I'm sure you know, are rather unpredictable, especially during wartime." Iorveth was surprised that she offered to share a camp, but maybe she felt the same weird calm around him as he felt around her? It was impossible to tell, but what the elf felt was true was the sincerity of her words. He felt strangely confident that she meant him no harm, so long as he himself was provided the same courtesy.

He shrugged, "Very well, I cannot see why not. Having someone watch my back would be nice change of pace in this blighted ghoul infested land." Ciri shot a quick smile his way, "Not too fond of Velen are you?" There was something about the curve of her lips and the reckless glint in her eyes that made him think about his grandmother... and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

In response to her querry, Iorveth just spat. "Even before the war I hated this place, far too treacherous a territory. The nekker's have always been fond of this land for whatever reason, and thanks to Radovid & the blighted emperor their population's practically exploded.

The girl nodded, though she seemed to pale somewhat at the mention of the Emperor. "True enough, I ran into a bunch of them before I arrived in the town, nasty things those." Iorveth has noticed the sword fastened to the saddle of her horse and nodded into it's direction. "I take it you know how to use that then?" He inquired casually.

"Of course, I was trained by the best." She said with no small amount of pride in her voice, her eyes lost in memories for a moment. "And besides, Nekkers not much of a problem if you know how hold yourself, just have to know how to talk to em." Iorveth looked at her carefully when she said that, not entirely certain that she was of sound mind, though he thought he might know what she was talking about, he didn't press it though.

They fell into almost companionable silence after that, Iorveth still feeling rather uncertain about this and never allowed himself to really relax in her company. He had lived too long to fall for a pretty face and polite words. One lives longer when keeping their suspicion.

It was only when they have found a small overlap in a cliff, shielded by bushes and trees that they spoke again once they have settled around the small bonfire, their bedrolls already laid out and the horses grazing.

"I'm sure you have some interesting stories to tell when there's a bounty on your head, no?" She asked, genuine curiosity in her eyes.

And oh indeed he had! Countless of stories, enough to fill tomes. Of course they wouldn't be all equally worth to read.. But still.

He meant to snap at her that he wasn't a bloede scribe, but the moment his annoyed gaze landed on her own... he felt the tension drain away from him and instead he murmured, "Aye, I suppose I do..." And so he began, telling her about times long lost, about proud elves he'd known before their utter downfall. Of the bathhouses, cities built of marble and of the old tree city he'd once called home and the mountains of Dol Blathanna. He didn't even know why he did this, it just cascaded out of his mouth like a waterfall and with every passing minute he felt lighter.

The old elf also mentioned a fair share of the wars he had partook in, he talked about their motives and beliefs because he suddenly felt the urge to make her understand the struggle of the nonhumans in a way he never felt himself able to with other dh'oinne. Of course he spared out a good amount of memories he'd rather not touch, either because they were too personal, or too painful.

And with every passing minute he felt a little lighter, a light smile forming on his lips.

Ciri watched the suddenly talkative elf with a smile of her own, listening to his every word and sometimes asking questions of her own, but those were rare because she rather let the Aen Seidhe talk about his eventful life.

Iorveth also mentioned the events of the last five or six years, though kept his encounter with the Witcher to himself. Something told him it would be better that way.

 _What the hell is going on here?,_ he thought, startled at just how openly he'd began to trust and accept this strange d'hoine. _I never even spoke this much to the bloede vatt'ghern. "Bloede hell weddin, ye never even babbled this much to yer dear old mam this much before!_ " As much as Iorveth wanted to disagree with the voice... he couldn't, honestly. He'd always been one who preferred actions to words.

But here was, his throat feeling raw and dry from all the talking. He felt as though he has talked enough for the next fifty years or so.

Laughing a little breathless he leaned back against the rocky wall and reached for a flask with his personal liquor from his pack, the familiar sweet burn of his own Camelroot brew soothing his sore throat.

"Ha! I must have bored you -" "No, not at all. Thank you for sharing your stories, Iorveth." She interrupted him and he could sense no mockery in her voice, nor malice.

It perplexed him for a second before he looked up again and searched for her eyes. "What about you? You look like you have some interesting things to say yourself." Iorveth asked with genuine interest in his eyes, attracted by her pleasant character and though he was unaware of it the Elder Blood in her veins.

A shadow crossed her brilliant eyes upon his question and she looked away into the flames.

"We should rest, I'm tired and tomorrow's gonna be tough for the both of us. Mind if I sleep first?" She asked, her voice quiet.

Iorveth only nodded, finding himself oddly concerned about what might trouble her. Shaking his head to get rid of these ridiculous thoughts he took another swig from his flask and looked into the dancing flames as he began the first watch for the night.

" _My... Yer getting old, Veth."_ And this time the voice in his head was his own.

It was only a couple of hours before dawn when Iorveth woke Ciri to take over for him. Utterly exhausted he was asleep the moment his head hit the stuffed pillow of his bedroll.

His slumber was light as ever, plagued by the demons of his past, who were only slightly mollified by the 'tea' he'd brewed earlier, reduced to nightmarish shadows rather than vivid as life figures, in some ways worse even though even that much he was grateful for. He could take the monstrous figures, it was the faces that dwelled within the shadows he feared most.

* * *

Iorveth woke with the first cold rays of the sun touching his face and tickling his nose, sitting up he immediately looked around, his eye scanning their little camp for Ciri.

But the girl was gone, though her belongings and horse were still there so he supposed she went herb-gathering or perhaps to relieve herself.

Grunting incoherently he rubbed his back, mildly bitter to feel it so tense and stiff and wistful of the days of even a half century ago, when his bones & muscles had been in remarkably better condition than they were now. Getting up he stretched and pulled the cloth from his head, breathing a sigh of relief when the cool morning breeze brushed through his raven locks.

After having moved a little to warm up his stiff muscles and joints he saw to their horses before preparing a strictly rationed 'breakfast' from his own meager vittles, and from some of the nearby plants, happy to discover even a few good potatoes and edible berries in the bushes.

He drank more of his tea while he did so, eager to quell various aches throughout his body,which stemmed largely from an early case of arthritis, brought on by many broken bones, and far too often strained muscles.

The 'tea' was more akin to liquor the way he brewed it, though it was pretty shite as far as actually getting drunk on it was concerned, but it was just as good if not better at getting his spirits up, and ensuring his body quit complaining so fiercely.

Iorveth groaned happily as a soothing warmth spread throughout his body and overtook his inflamed joints, rendering their howling wails to a bare whisper in the back of his head, and allowing him to focus on breakfast far more easily.

He actually began humming as he set to work, and found himself resettling the scarf on his head so that it fully covered his brow, and kept some of the sweat gathering at his exertions clear from his vision.

One of the few non-violent things in the world to bring him joy was cooking. And he couldn't help but find joy in it now, even if he was using what ingredients he had sparingly.

Before long Iorveth had a fairly gourmet-class meal before him, even if he did say so himself. A finely mashed & mixed together yam porridge boiled in a half pint of goat milk he'd picked up in the town, along with fresh cinnamon and some crushed berbercane berries mixed in.

Just the thing for an early day.

Once that was settled, he began pondering his next destination. The one artifact Gwynbleidd had entrusted to Iorveth was about due for a charging... but he wasn't altogether sure where to find such a place.

Iorveth was no stranger to the lands of Temeria by a long shot, but he'd never really taken much time to get know any of the land, apart from what it looked like, and where monsters were likely to hide and how to avoid them.

Though funnily enough, he was more apt to end up running straight to those monster hot zones nowadays, given that for whatever reason they seemed to like places of power.

Geralt had tried to explain it, but it hadn't really sunken in very well.

Iorveth sighed and began to dig around in his pack for the notes Geralt had left with him.

When Ciri returned she was pleasantly surprised by the scent of the food and the sight of the elf hunched over a map with a furrowed brow, his marred left face-side now on full display without the headscarf though his raven locks hid parts of it.

She was close to thinking he did not notice her arrival but his lips twitched lightly and his finger pointed from where it had rested on his knee towards a wooden bowl filled with the fresh food, along with a mug of some genuine & fresh brewed tea, made from berbercane leaves.

"Thank you." She simply said, not wanting to disturb the elf.

While eating she took her time to study him more, hoping he wouldn't notice, as fixated as he was on his map. His horrid scar and missing eye inevitably drew her attention, she was used to seeing such wounds of course, but she always wondered about the story behind them.

Iorveth could feel her stare like a flame on the left side of his face and asked himself why the hell he even revealed the mark of his shame long enough for her to see. As much as he felt at ease in her presence he couldn't wait to get away from her.

That he slipped so often without even noticing made him nervous and crabby.

"Ikke glosse que'na!" He snapped and looked up at her with an agitated expression. Ciri immediately flinched a little and looked guilty, having feared already that he would misinterpret her gaze.

"Squass'me! I did not mean to stare. I am just interested behind the story."

Iorveth did not look outright hostile anymore but still his face stayed as grim as ever. "I think I did enough story-telling. There's nothing to be said here... Just bloede pavienn doing what they do best." He said, quietly, his voice bitter.

Ciri knew when not to dig deeper and instead went back to eating her oatmeal in silence. That is until she heard his near silent "Fuck!" And decided to try to find out what he was up to with that damned map. A map that looked somewhat familiar to her, though she couldn't quite tell why.

"Can I help you? You've been sitting in front of that map for quite a while now, y'know." She smiled and looked over his hunched shoulders with pursed lips.

"Those are markings as the Witchers use them... How did you get this map?"

Iorveth sighed mildly annoyed and his annoyance only grew when he discovered that she had bend over his blind side so he had to twist more to look at her.

"Bought it." The elf snapped and tensed a little. "Now can you actually do something useful or is be annoying your only skill?" He growled and Ciri just shrugged. "Depends on what you're looking for Vethy." Her tone was definitely challenging now and he bit his tongue.

"Shu- Alright. Alright... I'm looking for points of power that are close by."

Intelligently she did not ask any further questions but studied the map on the ground before pointing at one of the markings.

"Here. It's perhaps a two days ride maximum, and the closest one nearby in the area that doesn't seem to have a curse upon it or is a brooding place for monsters."

Looking down at the spot her forefinger at pointed he nodded at first, but shook his head as he examined the markings more closely, "Its true, it is an ideal spot... but its not strong enough for my purposes, I need something... bigger, with more energy, something that's been soaking up energies for at least half a millennium." He saw her quizzical, inquiring expression and growled, "And no, you don't need to know why, its my business, and that's all I intend to say on the matter."

She huffed with annoyance, but accepted his words, as she truly did have better things to do than argue with the old Aen Seidhe _Bloody hell_ she thought _I do enough of this type of thing with the Sage, you'd think I'd learn to mind my own business_ Nonetheless she swallowed her irritation, and thought a moment more... thought again, grimaced slightly and decided to go for it. "There is another place... its not marked on the map, but I know it's there, and it's the closest high level place of power that I'm aware of, though whether or not its safe is another matter entirely." She looked at him with an uneasy expression "If you're serious about needing a good hotspot, then it's your best bet. Though I honestly have no clue as to whether or not its cursed, or what may dwell around it... you sure you want me to point you towards it?"

He sighed but nodded, he didn't have a choice if he wanted to uphold his promise to Geralt, curse or no curse. She obediently marked the place on his map, and he sighed as he noted just how far it was. It was a good two weeks worth of travel at the very least, probably more... but with as many minor hotspots around as there were, he figured he could make it in time.

"Looks good, I should be able to make it. This place have a name by any chance." She nodded, feeling a tad uneasy about what she knew was coming, he was not going to what he was about to hear. "Well out with it dh'oine," he growled impatiently, "what's it called?"

She told him... and she was right, he wasn't happy about it, in fact he looked about ready to sprout an archgriffin head and spew acid in her face, that was how unhappy & disbelieving he was about it. "Dh'oine," he ground out from between clenched teeth, "if this is an example of your race's sick peculiar humor, I will torture you, with torture unlike any other torture that has ever been perpetrated against your kind in the history of torture and I swear to you that your screams will be heard 'til fucking Skellige!"

Eventually, after a while of tense silence, Iorveth just sighed. He felt defeated and checked the altitude of the sun, then rolled the soft, worn leather up to tuck it into his coat.

"Thank you, Ciri. Whatever fortune made our paths cross... it was a good one I think." Iorveth said with sincerity, despite his initial outburst and continued belief that she was screwing with him and got up to pack his things. _There's just now way_ he thought _, there is no bloede way that its real!_

He really needed to move on, otherwise charging the blade would be getting urgent soon, and he wanted to avoided that when possible.

The white haired lass packed her things as well and readied her horse. They worked in silence, no one feeling the need to disturb the peace with useless words.

Besides, Iorveth felt like he might snap at her if he opened his mouth now. Her revelation had shattered him, and his thoughts were conflicting.

Iorveth checked his pouch with oils and ingredients and deemed it sufficient for the way ahead of him. Enough to deal with the occasional Ghoul, Nekker or Endrega. Even Kikimores wouldn't be a problem, as long as they weren't accompanied by a soldier.

Mounting their horses simultaneously they smiled at each other. "Take care Ciri, wherever your path leads you. Va faill!" She nudged her horse and trotted off while waving at him. "Va faill, Iorveth." She said took off into the opposite direction while the elf headed for the ruin that would charge the thirsty artifact, at least for a bit _. Bloede hell, even if there is a ruin at the place she pinpointed... there is just no way it can actually be Camelot!_

* * *

 **Authors Note**

 **Translations:**

 **Dh'oine - Human**

 **Pavienn - Ape**

 **Vatt'ghern - Witcher**

 **Va Faill - Farewell**

 **Bloede - Bloody**

 **Squass'me - I'm sorry/Excuse me**

 **"Fod yn dawel, anhedda`." - Roughly translated means "Be calm/stand still/Slow down"**

 **"Ikke glosse que'na!" - "Don't stare like that!"**

 **AlexanderRavana: I do hope the wait wasn't too** long, _**my dear readers. But here is the awaited update for the story. Enjoy and comment what you think!**_

 **TheGrinningPsychopath:... ERr i actually don't much to say this chapter. *shrug* worked hard on this, i'm tired. But never FEAR! The Grinning Psychopath, and his promising young pupil here, shall Work on regardless of how much energy it takes from us, We shall endeavor to bring you to the marvelous wonders and hells that lurk within our minds... heh and No you don't get a say in the matter lol! *Grin* Anyhow Review please, be sure to follow the story, and remember as always, Zone-Tan is right there with you, watching you fap.**


	3. Of Rotten Nobility & Devilish Suns

Iorveth knew he'd inevitably run into evidence of the ongoing war on his hunt for old magically potent ruins and coin, namely the vast battlefields filled with decaying corpses and naturally Necrophages which were thriving exceptionally well in times like these.

Usually a war meant good coin for the vatt'ghern, their services needed more than usual with the dangerous scavengers getting bold in their feeding frenzy and attacked the living more frequently than they usually would.

But these times were insanity. Witchers were being killed off by the Eternal Fire fanatics in their purge against anything and everything even remotely non-human, and their passion being more than enough to stir the same kind of bloodlust and craziness in the peasants.

Be it as it may, it wasn't only the Witchers profiting from these times and Iorveth intended to use the situation to his advantage, given the villagers didn't stone him as soon as he is in sight.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The old elf was certainly used to it, but still. The thick, stale summer air was knocked up with the stench of putrid meat and it made him feel more than a little nauseous, one couldn't get used to this stench. Not in this concentration.

His horse didn't seem to approve either, its ragged ears twitched nervously, the scarred nostrils blown and eyes wide with warring turmoil of its own. Still the experienced mare carried him safely on its back, never once shying away.

He had followed the way he had carefully marked the map, connecting towns and small cities with points of power which all lead to his top destination for now. ... Camelot... Iorveth shook his head. Ciri must've been mistaken. It was impossible. Still, as long as it was enough to fuel Geralt's fucking sword he wouldn't reject the idea of going there... Whatever it turned out to be in the end.

The elf was on his way to one of the countless villages strewn over the lands, more settlements than even villages in most cases, and the next one was no exception. He didn't even bother to memorize the name, why would he? He'd be miles gone again in the next two or three days.

Not much later, with the searing sun well past its zenith, he could see the circling vultures and the stench became even more intense. Iorveth wiped the sweat from his brow and closed his eyes for a mere second, steeling himself against the things he'd see now just as he always did when facing a battlefield.

With a new feeling of indifference he decided to steer his horse towards the decaying field of corpses. Normally his way would have lead him past the battlefield and straight to the settlement, but he wanted to see what he had to deal with.

Coming to a halt on a soft hill he leaned on the gullet of the saddle, his eye wandering over the scene of violence and death laid out in front of him.

The elf's eye halted at the Nilfgaardian banners for a moment, fondly remembering the time he had fought under that same banner for the Vrihedd brigade, screaming 'For the Iron Wolf!' with abandon. It had been times like these were he had really felt he could change something.

His eye traveled further and made out a small pack of Ghouls in the shadows of the far trees, not really daring to step into the sun just yet. Iorveth tried to pinpoint from where the beasts might come, and tried to see if he could discover entrances into small caves and the like from his position. Truth be told he couldn't make out much but assumed that they would come from the forest side.

Though a couple of them apparently felt really bold or hungry and The Carrion Kings, (A title which the locals had so graciously bestowed upon them) did their job well, ripping into the bloated corpses that littered the valley like so much refuse, stuffing handfuls of fetid meat into their eager maws, and cracking open bones to get at the sweet marrow within. If left to their gruesome task in just a few short months there would be nothing in the field but bits of powdered bones, and some gear that'd fetch a good price from the merchants.

But villagers rarely thought so practically, and as a result had began posting notices everywhere under the sun for a Witcher to rid them of the wretched noblemen of the battlefield... unfortunately all they got was him _. Bloede commoners should treat their Witchers better, if they don't want to deal with things like me_ he thought bitterly, as he eyed his quarry through the spyglass, from the relative safety of the horseback on the far edge of the battlefield, far from any corpses that would attract the so called Carrion Kings.

Sporadically he laid out traps in front of his inner eye, contemplating where they would be most effective and from where he would strike.

It took him about fifteen minutes to have a vague idea of what he'd hopefully do the following day and steered his horse back on the path.

Iorveth reached the settlement at sunset, summertime definitely being an advantage here. It looked like all dh'oine breeding-hotspots seemed to look, if he was asked he really couldn't tell the difference from the village he'd been in a few days ago. Or the one before that.

It gave him a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, his days and weeks blurring into each other than they already usually did due to his lifespan.

Shaking his head he sighed and let his horse walk right up to the village square where children eyed him curiously or pointed at him and giggled "Knife-Ear!" Iorveth bit his lip, berating himself that they only mimicked the pitiful behavior of their elders. Still it was always torture to stay in a dh'oine village.

Suddenly 'Kill The Elf' seemed to be their new favorite game and the unlucky lass who was appointed to be the elf was chased through the streets by a mob of screaming weddii.

The elders weren't any better, but more subtle in their display of repulsion and distrust. They frowned, sneered and whispered, deliberately going out of his way but never once taking their eyes off him.

Apparently no one felt bold enough to really cross the armed elf who was well known from the bounty posters and the gruesome stories which were told of the Scoia'tael leader.

It was the eldest of the settlement who first spoke to him when Iorveth made his way over to the small notice board in front of their local tavern.

"What is yer buisness 'ere, elf? I'm sure ye notice when you're unwelcome... I suggest that ye move on. We have no use for yer kind here nor want to waste our liquor on a damned Scotatel." The bearded man grumbled, his stance showing his hostility and weariness.

Iorveth cringed noticeably when the dh'oine perverse the word and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I'm seeing you have a Ghoul problem here, and I intended to offer my services... in exchange for coin. I won't linger for too long, I assure you. Just want to do the work, collect my pay and then be on my way." He said with an audible strain in his voice as he tried to reign in his hot blood and hatred. It would be of no use for him here.

The chief's thick brows furrowed and he looked the elf over critically. "Ye a Witcher now or what? Never 'eard of bloody knife-ears bein' Witchers. Think ye can play me for a sucker, elf?"

Iorveth bit his tongue and looked away for a second.

 _Stop killing your bloede witchers bloede fool, then maybe you won't have to rely on scum like me_ he had wanted to growl, _give the vatt'gherne the proper treatment and they might just be willing to make a few return trips to your sodding miserable village on a regular basis to take care of any problems you do have! bloede sodden dh'oine._

Instead of saying any of that however, his eye bored into the chief's yet again. "Look, I only want to make some coin, and be on my way. I will bring you the heads of your 'kings' and then you can see for yourself. Deal?" Iorveth swallowed his pride and extended his palm, a gesture that obviously surprised the village's eldest.

Eyeing it suspiciously he looked once again into the elf's moss green eye, obviously thinking. Then, with a sigh he took the offered hand shook on it to the surprise of Iorveth and the peasants. Murmured protests were spoken but they eventually died down.

The villagers were eager to rid themselves of the ghouls, and if they had to rely on an elf to do it... well sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

Iorveth casually noted with a small amount of glee, that the girl who'd been designated as Elf, had managed to get the upper hand somehow, and now all the others were on the ground crying.

Iorveth nodded at the local tavern, "Am I allowed to settle at the inn?" With a grunt the chief nodded and waved him off but not without receiving another glance from the elf that promised murder if he didn't stand true to his promise.

Tying his horse to a post he entered the Inn and was shown his 'room' for his stay. Which was a small niche laid out with hay and covered by some old pelts.

Iorveth gritted his teeth and punched the wall hard once, the pain in his knuckles distracting him from the anger that was about to bubble up.

'Better than sleeping in beds heavy with their stench.' He told himself and sat down on the makeshift bed.

Pulling his bag with weapon oils and ingredients onto his lap he began to prepare himself for the upcoming Necrophage hunt.

The elf recalled Geralt's words when it came to brewing the right oils and now was grateful for it. His own knowledge was considerable of course, but not as extensive as that of the vatt'ghern.

By the time midnight rolled around he was stocked up on Necrophage Oil with his special little silver dust enhancement along with some Grapeshot -and Dancing Star bombs and three Conflagration traps. A bait he wouldn't need.. He'd be the bait. In a sea of decaying bodies and thusly enough food only a living humanoid would attract their interest in their frenzy.

Once satisfied that all were ready for the task ahead of him, he clipped a few useful items to a leather bandolier he threw over his chest and slipped the oils along with a few potions into designated loops on his belt.

The rest was neatly wrapped up into his pack again ready to go in the morn. He certainly wouldn't be leaving any of his stuff here, for any of the villagers to poke, pry or pocket.

Feeling as prepared as he could be, he packed his pipe full of krathom and settled in for the night.

He awoke early in the morning, and stepped out to assess the quality of the day. It was a mild summer day, with a mild bit of wind, and it wasn't too hot yet. he enjoyed the gentle breeze that caressed his face and was grateful for the sun not to have risen to its full power yet.

Iorveth mounted his loyal horse and set off into the direction of the battlefield, absentmindedly touching the wolf pendant. Was he some sort of vatt'ghern now? Could he really see himself as one? It was an amusing thought and it did not fail to draw a faint smile on the stern curves of his lips.

It did not take him long to arrive at the battlefield which would be stage for his hunt.

Iorveth had a lot of experience dealing with monsters of all shapes and sizes, and he had known even before his encounter with the vatt'ghern that if you didn't have a good silver blade at hand to deal with them, then the essences of particular plants and animals could be used instead as a reasonable substitute, and Geralt had been kind enough expand upon that knowledge, and gave him recipes to improve the effectiveness of his concoctions, as well as adding a few extra he hadn't known about.

Iorveth cast his gaze to the steadily rising sun. It would be noon soon, the perfect time to strike given how sunlight weakened most necrophage species.

He fingered a vial of oil from his rucksack and eyed the contents carefully, wanting to be sure that it was the right one.

Sliding from the back of his horse he kneeled down, unsheathed his sword and pulled his arrows our of his quiver.

With practised ease he began coating the blade and the arrowheads with the sticky and thick substance, making sure not to have missed a single arrow.

Sheathing his sword and ammo he got up and drew his bow instead, an arrow loosely against the bowstring just in case.

Carefully the elf stepped onto the battlefield, careful outmaneuvering the countless bloated and decaying corpses which was no easy feat.

He slowly neared the treeline where he knew the Necrophage are hiding, impatiently waiting for the night.

Strategically he placed the traps he brought, always looking up from his work to see if one of the wretched beasts got too close, but he was lucky. The sun was on his side in this matter.

Having placed the last trap he reached for his belt and took out one of the vials which slipped easily into his palm.

A little surprise for his hungry friends, something that will hopefully lure them out of their lairs and bring them a little closer to him.

Taking his spyglass from his belt he scanned the trees for the Ghouls and their lairs, eventually finding what he looked for he gripped the vial a little tighter and aimed.

The first clue the ghouls had that something strange was occurring in their rancid world, was when a small glass vial landed in their midst and shattered on the trunk of the tree, just above where their dens were located. A sapient mind would have been suspicious of this, particularly when faint gases arose from the contents of the broken vial and brought a highly attractive scent to their nostrils. And especially when a second such vial soon smashed into the tree right beside the first to fill the air with even more the mysterious essence.

But ghouls had never been accused of being sapient... or even particularly sentient for that matter and instead, once the scent found its way into their nostrils, they flocked to the source to breath it deep into what passed for their lungs. The scent flooded their senses until there was nothing BUT the scent for them in the universe and they shook, shuddered and groaned.

Iorveth laughed under his breath when the repulsive creatures slowly crawled forth, their heads held high into the air, sniffing it apparently and looking for the source of what must be the most exquisite scent to them.

Unhooking the first Grapeshot bomb he carefully aimed once again and threw with all strength once the Necrophage ventured forth far enough.

The Ghouls were so preoccupied with the ravenous hunger the scent soon produced in them, that they didn't even notice the third item to fall into their midst. A single circular object, with a fuse fizzling away happily. Cocking their heads they grunted and groaned, the little sparks distracting them momentarily and that is when the bomb exploded and sent burning shrapnel deep into their slick flesh.

The four of them having been closest to the bomb were in flames, two of them dead not long after. A sort of panic broke out among the remaining Ghouls who couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

Iorveth grinned at the stupidity of the monsters, his smile widenning as a couple wondered straight into the traps he'd lain down, and were torn to shreds by the bombs within.

That's when the six remaining ones seemed to have noticed him. They roared in fury and ran towards him in a breakneck speed and Iorveth could only smile.

Drawing the string of his bow back behind his ear with ease he took aim shortly and then fired off the first arrow, two more following shortly after.

The arrows plunged into the hearts of the montstrosities mid-run, the force of it knocking them down onto their backs. The oils covering the arrows quickly spread throughout their systems, and they flailed madly at the ground, as the silver & herbs coursed throughout their systems and burned their veins to ash.

The three remaining Ghouls left their brethren behind, murder in their disgusting beady eyes. Letting his bow fall to the ground the elf pulled his sword and took a defensive stance. And waited patiently for the beasts to come to him.

With a roar the first beast charged catapulted itself into the air with its maws gaped wide open.

Iorveth fell to one knee and held his blade out in one hand, edge carefully angled to the side and let the fiend fall directly onto his sword.

The creature's own momentum did the majority of the work for him, driving the blade through its own body, the tip exploding through its back, and the edge cutting forward through the beast, sliding neatly in between its ribs, and spilling its intestines forward.

Still it wasn't enough though, so he pivoted forward twisting about so that he was now facing the beast's back which he gave a good shove with his free hand, the extra force bringing his blade on through the creature's body, and nearly cleaving it in two.

The two remaining monsters circled him slowly, as if waiting for something. He decided to make the first move this time and lunged forward with a lightning fast movement, the tip of his sword piercing the Ghoul's throat right through the middle, and he was pleased to feel the slight resistance, and then give as his blade severed its spinal column.

Tearing his blade free Iorveth spun around and managed to bring his blade about just in time, to sever the clawed hand that had been reaching for him.

The remaining beast screeched in pain & outrage and slunk back a ways, backing off, now quite certain that it did not want any part of this devil that had wiped out the rest of its pack.

Iorveth twirled the blade in his hand casually, and the creature flinched. He smiled, teeth glinting in the sunlight, appearing as cool and confident as a tiger. Though in actuallity it was taking everything he had not groan as his bones cried out in outrage at the exertion he was putting them through.

Still the beast didn't need to know that.

Iorveth advanced on the lone ghoul. The Ghoul on the otherhand continued to back away, and Iorveth's smile widened as it did so. _Just another few steps..._

Abruptly the ghoul turned and began scrambling away... directly into Iorveth's final trap.

The resulting explosion was a beauty to behold... at least until the ghoul's bits fell, splattering him with its gore.

Iorveth cursed under his breath, but he couldn't supress a grin of satisfaction at the carnage he'd wrought.

Not as fulfilling as killing bigotted humans, but still fairly satisfying nonetheless.

Wiping the sweat and stinking dark blood from his brow, he set to work carving the monsters' heads from their bodies. A repulsing task, but one needed to be done so he could collect his pay.

Collecting them in a dirty potato sack he just made his way to the last remaining two. So preoccupied was he with collecting the heads that he didn't notice the earth shifting slightly in the wake of something formidable until it was already far too late.

"Fuck!" he yelled, as searing pain lanced up his leg and he looked down to see a pair of bloodshot eyes staring back into his own, strong jaws holding his leg in a vice-like grip.

Dropping the sack Iorveth already prepared to stab whatever attacked him but then the monster bristled and twisted and turned, all without releasing its death-hold on the elf who fell back on back with a yell.

He barely had time to gather his wits when the beast exploded from the ground and landed atop him, its stinking body pinning him to the ground. Iorveth recognized the thing for what it was, a bloede Alghoul.

The beasts strength was tremendous and it shoved him into the ground, its claws digging deep into his chest, tearing through his armor as if it were tissue paper.

Iorveth's chest burned as its claws dug furrows into his flesh, and the monster's considerable weight forced the air from his lungs. Iorveth could feel his ribs creaking and he fought the urge to pass out from the pain and oxygen deprivation.

The alghoul just stared down at him, beady eyes squinting, and seeming to sway just a little atop him and he wondered what the hell it was taking its time for,.

That's when he saw the light glinting in its eyes and he realized that the medallion had been exposed, and was now reflecting the sunlight the creature hated so much directly into its face.

He suddenly recalled a legend of how sunlight reflected off silver could have an incredibly detrimental effect on a conjunction creature, particularly if shone in the eyes.

 _Bloede thing is stunned._ He thought even as he clawed at the dagger at his side.

The Alghoul seemed to be breaking free from its trance, and was slowly raising one claw overhead, and the bloede thing's leg had his dagger pinned.

That left only one option.

Iorveth tore medallion free from his neck and slapped it against the creature's chest.

Blue-white fire exploded from where the medallion touched the creature, yet Iorveth didn't feel a creature sure did though.

The alghoul shrieked in agony and fell back, clutching at itself and wailing as the flames overtook its body.

It wouldn't be long before the alghoul succumbed to the flames, but Iorveth wasn't in the mood watch the creature continue to flail about and suffer however. He simply stood, retrieved his fallen blade and severed the fiend's head from its body, same as all the others.

Sitting next to the dead & roasting Alghoul he caught his breath, eying the beast for bit...blasted critter had almost gotten him.

Iorveth fingered the medallion in his grasp. It was completely unmarked, as was his hand. He hadn't even felt the flames. _Were it not for Gwynbleidd's keepsake..._ Iorveth shook his head and stood. He'd faced death in the face, and spat in its eye far too many times at this point to get freaked out by it now, and besides he had a job to complete.

Iorveth took a few steps forward, and had to fight the urge to vomit as pain wracked his body from his various injuries.

 _Perhaps it would be best to see to my injuries first however._ He thought dryly to himself, and did his best to limp over and around the field of corpses and over to where he'd left his pack of supplies.

Observing the wounds on his chest and especially the bite on his calf he knew he had to pull out the big bolts for this task. The bloede thing's saliva was so chock full of bacteria, it was practically poison, he needed to cleanse the wounds it had inflicted thoroughly.

Rummaging in his knapsack he found a bottle of Pepperwodka and a clean rag, enough to sterilize the wounds provisionally. Additionally he downed a potion born of wheatgrass, mistletoe, and burdock root that would help keep his blood clean and fight off any infection, plus rubbing an herbal salve into the injuries before tearing the cloth in two and wrapping it around his calf and practiaclly scraped the claw marks on his chest clean.

It would have to do for now, later he'd need to tend to them properly. If nothing else helped he'd need to burn them out, though he'd rather not do that, his empty socket started to ache with the memory of seared flesh.

Afterwards he limped back to his horse who didn't seem thrilled about the stinking wet sack of Necrophage heads he carried.

Patting the mare's neck soothingly he tied the sack of monster heads to the saddle and climbed onto her back albeit little clumsily due to his injuries.

"Believe me I'm not thrilled about it either, Tirth." Iorveth sighed and nudged her flanks gently, his horse bringing him swiftly back to the village.

It was obvious that the peasants have not counted on his return and few bothered to hide their idiotic surprised faces as he rode through their midst, their children trailing behind his horse but soon running off when the stink from now a little slimy gunnysack became too much.

Their games seemed to change topics soon and the lass that had been chased previously now proudly chased the other children who slobbered and ran away on all fours occasionally, giving a rather convincing impression of the Carrion Kings.

Iorveth smiled to himself and shook his head softly when he halted his mount to let the screaming pack pass the road.

He'd never get used to the dh'oine brood, as gullible as their elders if not more, yet it surprised him to see how they could be so devoid of prejudices and in his heart he felt the hope that things can still change maybe. Change in the generations to come.

Not a minute later he huffed and grabbed the reigns tighter, scolding himself for his foolishness. "There have been countless generations before them, nothing has changed. Why would it change in the future?" He scolded himself and was relieved when he finally spotted the chief.

The elf gritted his teeth when he climbed off his horse, not wanting to show how much his injuries pained him, the one on his calf in particular was smarting in the most uncomfortable way.

To his credit nothing showed except for a lightly furrowed brow when his feet hit the ground. Breathing a sigh of relief Iorveth faced the eldest and unhooked the sack from the saddle, glad to finally get rid of it.

"I see you returned, elf. I want to be honest with ye, I did not expect it. But I also can't say that I'm not glad to see ye back with the trophies. I hope we can finally work on the fields again now without being in danger of th' blasted Ghouls."

Iorveth allowed himself a smirk and dropped the sack in front of the chief's feet who nudged it open with his walking stick.

"They won't bother you, at least for a while. With the war and the battlefields one can never be sure, nor careful enough." He said calmly and crossed his arms.

The eldest seemed satisfied and nodded lightly. "ye earned yer hundred an fifty crowns elf, I won't deny ye that."

Iorveth shook his head reached into the sack, pulling the alghoul's head forth. "More than that old man. Certainly you know an Alghoul's worth?"

The old man sucked in a breath. "Melitile's balls!" he swore. One thing Iorveth had to give the D'hoinne fore sure, was their creativity in the art of swearing, and their ability to put unsavory images in one's mind.

Iorveth was quite grateful when the elder drew on his pipe, and let out a cloud of smoke which tickled Iorveth's nostrils and drew him away from a rather unsettling vision of a hermaphroditic & nude Melitile.

The Elder seemed to be pondering the matter rather more intensely than Iorveth would have liked. "We really can't spare much more in the way of coin mister," he murmured, and Iorveth's ears twitched as he fought to keep his temper in check. The chief of course noticed and held up his hands in placation, "but that don't mean we can't repay you, we can I swear... just not in coin."

Taking a step back Iorveth nodded, indicating for the man to make his offer. He seemed relieved at that and smiled faintly, having been sure for a moment that something horrible would happen... He couldn't quite shake his uneasyiness around the elf. He'd seen many kinds of people over the years, and he'd gotten pretty good at assessing them.

He knew that the elf before him was not one to be trifled with.

Snapping his fingers at a woman and waving he over he murmured something to her. The girl didn't seem happy but she obliged and scurried off into one of the buildings.

It was obvious that the elf was beginning to lose his patience but before he could say anything however the girl returned with a large bundle in her arms.

"While as I said our coin is low, we've had a remarkably good harvest. About the only good thing to happen since the damned war started, so here's my offer. Four loafs of fresh potato bread, three pounds of wheatgrass, and ten pounds of dried apricots, that sound good to you mister?"

Iorveth looked over the poffered supplies, seeing for himself of the quality of the goods.

He couldn't deny that it was best quality food he'd set eyes on in quite some time, and he really could use the supplies.

"I accept." The elf said mildly and they shook hands shortly.

Loading the goods onto his horse and stashing the coin away in his pouch he mounted the mare with a barely visible wince and nodded at the chief, his eyes scanning the gathered crowd.

"Safe travels, elf." The chief said politely and Iorveth nodded his thanks. "Va faill." he said and steered his horse out of the village.

"Oh, one more thing traveler. Ye might want to get erself looked over by the priestesses of Melitele over in Ellander! You look like you could use the treatment"

For a second disbelief was readable in Iorveth features before he schooled them into a faint smile. "Thanks for the advice. I will consider it."

With that, he made his way out of the village in a light gallop, eager the D'hoinne and their words behind along with the turmoil they stirred up within him. How they seemed to shake and rattle beliefs he had been sure were true and a constant in his life.

Particularly he thought of how the children had gazed at him as he rode past... more than a few had, held admiring looks on their faces. Not to mention he was pretty sure the lass who'd beaten the boys up had, had a set of false ears on.

Iorveth was still pondering whether or not the weddin with elf ears was insulting or not, when he saw the Black Ones.

He saw them from afar, on a path that would cross his own. Black armor, dark banners adorned with a flaming sun, a small battalion of Nilfgaardian warriors.

And while that didn't exactly unsettle him, a single, special sight did it instead.

His sharp eye focused on a single person on a proud stallion, countless insignia adorning his expensive leather coat, the golden, thick ceremonial chain around his neck catching the sun.

Iorveth did not even notice that his horse had come to a halt, its head straining against the tight, violent grip he suddenly had on its reigns.

Morvran Voorhis. Overseer of the Vrihedd brigade, elven division of the fourth cavalry army of the Nilfgaardian Empire back at the Battle of Brenna. Iorveth had been an officer, and so had been Isengrim who had led their brigade as Colonel. All of the other officers dead, executed... Save for him and Isengrim himself. The both of them had managed to flee... though not without scars to remind them of the betrayal.

The hate that bubbled up in his stomach creeped up to his lungs, crushing them in their hold and making it nearly impossible for him to breathe. And with the hate came the rage, his vision blurring, becoming obscured by darkness till all he could see was the damned piece of shit who'd betrayed & mutilated him and his comrades. A thousand memories of injustice, and pain flashed violently before his mind's eye/

He wanted to rip him off his horse, throw him into the dirt where he belongs and then just stomp on his face until it was a bloody pulp of flesh and bone.

Controlled by his violent fantasies and the voices in his head that screamed revenge and murder he urged his horse on, forcing it to trot towards the small battalion despite the warnings of his voice of reason which screamed at him from the back of his head, cried for him to get a grip on himself before it was too late.

But that was one voice he couldn't hear. All he could hear, and all he could see were the mountains of elven dead who shrieked at him to take vengeance.

And he would have, would have crossed their way and ripped the son of bitch apart if it wasn't for the medallion against his chest ripping him out of his violent haze.

The thing grew hot against his chest and began to vibrate violently, as if a thousand ghouls were about to come down on him this very moment. Iorveth cursed and pulled it out from under his tunic.

Holding it out at arm's length he saw the silver wolf's head straining in the direction of a point of power. And it strained away from the Nilfgaardians.

The elf cursed violently and turned the horse to the side. His heart thumped in his chest, and still he burned to taste his vengeance... but the pain of the hot medallion had brought his mind back to him.

He hadn't cooled down in the slightest, but he knew that attempting to go after Voorhis would have been suicide, absolutely pointless with almost zero chance of success, yet still he wanted it so badly, stab him, strangle him, ANYTHING! Anything at all to make the disgusting dh'oine suffer like he had.

Iorveth shook his head, tried his best to keep the memories at bay. "Turn around ye fool! Your brethren scream for revenge. Its your duty to bring them peace, to die for them now where you have chose to flee before!" "No.." He murmured, trying his best to mute the voices and purge his mind of all images.

The elf almost fell off his horse once he reached the small ruin, apparently peaceful much to his luck. though he would have relished the chance to vent his fury on a monster or bandit right about now. Rummaging in his pack with shaking hands and labored breath he pulled out the shattered blade in its leather wrapping and went to the point where the medallion felt hottest and was vibrating the most violently.

With a sigh he fell to his knees and put the blade on an overgrown ashlar, carefully pulling the soft leathers apart to unveil the broken remnants within. Oddly enough the sight of the ancient sword calmed him, the pieces clinking together and producing a near musical hum that... soothed the jagged edges in his mind.

It was a piece of art, from the hilt to the tip and even in its destroyed state it felt powerful. The elf reached out, his gloved fingers gently caressing the dragonhead-shaped pommel of the blade. Set in the eyes of the dragon's head were sapphires of a blue so dark they were nearly black, and gazing at it he couldn't help but think of Saskia and his more or less unrequited love, couldn't help but wonder about how she was faring and with her his people in Upper Aedirn. But these thoughts were idle and would do him little good good.

Iorveth's hand came to a rest upon on the runes of the blade his thumb upon the deep red crystal in the middle of the crossguard which was said to be the crystalized blood of the Lady Of The Lake herself. While his free hand took up the medallion and held it close to his heart.

Iorveth did as Geralt had instructed him, using the techniques for meditation, while focusing his energies upon the items in his grasp. Closing his eye, evening out his breaths, and even slowing his heart as he attuned his body, mind, and very soul to the magic wildly flowing around him, the medallion which acted as a conduit together with his body and the once mighty blade Aerondight. But like this his mind was weak, vulnerable and he had no choice but to succumb to the violence in his head.

 **(four years ago, at Brenna)**

It was the day before the great battle. Anticipation and tension hung heavy over the camp like a thick woolen blanket in the midst of summer and Iorveth was sure he could could almost taste it on his tongue.

He has already had his fair share of battles, he knew how to handle the tension and the doubts, but others weren't as experienced, most of those dh'oine. He couldn't blame them, their short life span must make it difficult he figured. Turning around he found Lieutenant Voorhis pondering over the large board that showed a detailed map of the battlegrounds, small figures being placed where their armies would strike and which formations to take. Voorhis had been assigned to supervise their battalion, to make sure the orders and interests of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis were carried out with the utmost loyalty.

That didn't sit well with their Colonel Isengrim Faoiltiarna of course, but there was nothing they could do about it. The price for disobedience were just too grave. Iorveth's gaze fell on the General's hands which pushed around a horse figure symbolizing a cavalry battalion, as if not sure were to place it to gain maximum effect. With a mild smile the elf approached the dh'oine and put his fist against his heart with a curt bow, showing respect were it was due.

"May I help with that, Sir?" He asked politely, pointing at the figure in th human's hand who didn't seemed thrilled about being offered help but he nodded. "If you think you can solve the problem, then of course. Be my guest." Voorhis hauteur was no secret and so the elf took no offense as he stepped up next to the dh'oine and began discussing the matters with him.

...

Defeat, sellout, treachery. They had fought, side by side. Together they were victorious... Just to be sold out to the Northern Kingdoms for 'crimes' that shouldn't matter anymore. Not after what had been endured together. No protection from Nilfgaard, none from the thrice-cursed Findabair whore!

 _They will pay!_ He swore.

And so he ran, his loungs rattling and burning, but he ran ran ran through the sullied forest, ran for his life. Several of his ribs, broken along with his arm. His body littered with cuts, deep purple bruises and black scorch marks. He could barely breathe through his broken nose which was nearly completely swollen shut, his frantic panting through his mouth making him feel light headed together with the blood loss.

But he had to endure, had to get away from Brenna, far away if he wanted to live. And indeed he did wish to live, but more than anything else he wanted revenge and a chance give the dh'oine filth what they all deserved.

He didn't expect that he would get his chance so soon, or that he would to run smack Morvran Voorhis himself.

 _Voorhis!_ he roared inwardly, as he gazed across the bridge that would lead him beyond this wretched valley.

Not a word did the Nilfgaardian officer utter when his brethren were wheeled off the be executed! He didn't look even mildly distressed about it. Iorveth stomach rebelled when he thought about how he had offered the man his help just two days ago, and more besides!

"Ffycin madra!" (fucking dog) He screamed and charged

...

If it weren't for his infernal rage he would have already blacked out, but the destructive fire within him allowed him to continue swinging his blade against the considerably less injured Voorhis. "Submit, elf! You have no chance to win this." The calm of the dh'oine's voice angered the elf only more and he roared savagely, his vision red with the bloodlust he felt.

Forgotten was his finesse, instead his strikes were brutal, bundling all the strength he had left in his swings. "I'll rip you apart, traitor!" He screamed, his voice raw. Voorhis seemed unphased by that and danced out of the way of yet another powerful blow. "I? A traitor? Hardly. You on the other hand..."

Iorveth feinted a strike at his legs but pirouetted into the other direction which gave his limp broken arm enough to momentum to strike right into smug face of that bastard. Freely he screamed out his pain, gained strength from it and managed to slash his opponents arm. Though, he has not seen the attack that was coming in turn. Voorhis had chosen the lesser of two evils and endured the gash in his arm so he could deliver a more devastating strike.

Iorveth could see the blade coming, it seemed to near his face in slow motion, but he couldn't move, rooted to the spot. Could see the blood droplets flying off the blade one by one and his gut clenched in horror, preparing for the pain.

The sword cut his face up clean and proper from his lip up to the corner of his eye. A dreadful milisecond passed that seemed to last an eternity... and then Voorhis twisted about, turning the blade so that it went sideways and gouged across Iorveth's naked eye and over the bridge of his nose. Iorveth stumbled to the side, so numb with shock he didn't even feel how his own sword dropped from his suddenly limp fingers to the bloody ground. His vision swam, and for a moment he didn't feel a thing beyond the terrible dread as he slowly but surely came to grips with what had just happened, and then the pain hit. Pain like he had never felt before exploded throughout his world.

Iorveth howled, clutching at the bloody mess that was his face, and stumbling off to the side, barely even feeling it when he hit the balustrade.

His body was close to hyperventilating and Iorveth swayed, stumbling back from his tormentor who pursued him to end his agony. He felt a sharp, searing pain in his chest... and then the feeling of weightlessness overtook him, and darkness dominated his vision.

...

When he awoke some time later, he found himself atop a small mountain of bodies... bodies with pointed ears and staring horrified faces. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, and he wanted to retch, but he lacked the strength even to do that much.

He couldn't even groan with the despair he felt, he was just too tired, too... broken.

The last thing Iorveth saw before he closed his sole remaining eye, was a dark bloody sky, as if the heavens themselves had been cut with the deaths of his people.

 **(Present)**

Iorveth came to with a startled intake of breath as he broke from his meditation. The air around him felt drained and cold, the runes on the blade now glowing with a pale blue light and humming lightly.

He was soaked in cold sweat, his heart pounding violently within his chest.

Sitting back he wiped the sweat from his brow and tried desperately to calm his frantic breathing and heartrate. Oddly enough, just like the air around him he too felt empty, drained of all emotions and utterly exhausted. His scar was aching terribly, but it was an old pain he had grown used to dealing with whenever the old memories came up, and they so often did particularly nowadays.

Methodically the elf wrapped the blade up again and got to his feet with almost mechanic movements, his mare nudging his cheek as if concerned while he stored Aerondight back in his pack. Iorveth patted the horse's muzzle softly and allowed his head to rest against her warm neck for a while and she allowed it, standing perfectly still and allowed the weary elf to seek his comfort against her sparse greying fur.

The time for vengeance would come... but not yet, not when he still had things left to take care of for those who mattered to him that were still among the living.

He climbed atop Tirth's back, looked forward head held high, and urged the old warhorse to venture forth. The sword was a thirsty thing, and the magic of this place was utterly drained, yet it still wasn't enough. The charge would hold for a while, but it needed to be filled to the brink with power so that it could last the trip across the mountains where he knew hotspots were few and far between, where knew he could find someone capable enough to put the blasted thing back together.

As the horse trotted forth, and the vibrations of its movement went through his body, the leg the bloede Alghoul had bitten into began to itch.

 **Authors Note**

 **The Grinning Psychopath: Yet another chapter completed of Devils of the flowering blood summer, Woohoo! Yowza we are on a hot streak. Music that helped to inspire this chapter...Through the Fire and the Flames by Dragonforce, Monster, and Adelaide by Meg Myers, Ghost Assassin by Veela, and Time to say Goodbye by Jeff Williams and Casey Lee Williams.**

 _ **AlexanderRavana: I can hardly believe how easily this one came to life. Maybe it was the content that helped, I always like to write about dear ole Vethy's past and this bit surely was dramatic! Hope ya enjoy this peeps.**_


	4. Of Feverish Judgment & Judgmental Fever

Not even two days after the Alghoul attack and Iorveth knew he was in trouble when he walked under the blazing summer sun... and shivered. He wrapped himself tightly in his ratty green coat, entirely unable to feel even the slightest bit of warmth from the fiery ball in the sky that was supposed to be strongest around this time of the year.

 _Bloede hell, this is not good!_ Despite his best efforts, the blasted wounds had become infected. He poured scalding hot water full of herbal essences over the wounds and while they seemed to improve, his fever did not. Nor did the incessant itching that was spreading through his body. He'd started drinking large doses of antibacterial elixirs on an hourly basis and it did seem to help somewhat, but he could tell it wasn't enough. The bloede bacteria found on ghouls was potent as fuck! And it had found it's way to his blood, turning his own essence against him like a poison.

He needed help. The elf didn't have anything to bind his wounds with that wasn't at least a little bit grimy and sleeping exposed to all the elements sure as hell wasn't helping.

He needed clean bandages, a sterile bath full of herbal extracts in which he could soak his wounds in and that special damned mold the sorcerers cultivated.

In short, he needed a bloede herbalist at the very least, and at worst he had to go see the Priestesses of Melitele at Ellander, though he'd truly prefer not to.

Iorveth had little patience even for his own people's religion, let alone any dh'oine religion. He had heard good things of the priestesses however, and had in fact found himself under the care of pretty if incredibly silent young priestess shortly after the battle of Brenna. _What was her name again_... he wondered even as he tore a handful of herbs out of the ground and examined them carefully _Eoli?... Iolas maybe?_ He shook himself, he couldn't remember and it didn't matter anyway, she was probably long dead by now. Cut down by her own insane kind, or the plague.

Iorveth winced as he bent down to rip up another thatch of greenery from the forest floor. The infection was making his joints ache even worse than usual, and he had the horrible feeling something was crawling on his flesh, even though he knew there wasn't. Iorveth rolled bits and pieces of various herbs he'd collected into a ball the size of an eye, carefully squeezed it a few times, then packed it into the side of his mouth.

The bittersweet taste of the herbal juices filled his mouth as he suckled upon the ball, and the elf drew his features into a tight grimace, but the pain he was experiencing was already beginning to subside, and soon enough his fever would break... if only for a very brief period of time.

He checked on the scratched on his arm and winced when the reddened angry flesh and the slightly blackened veins came into view. He really didn't want to go to the dh'oine city, and even less did he desire to submit himself to the care of their religious nutcases. No matter the fine work they were known for... but he doubted he had much of a choice in the matter.

Blood poisoning was no joke, and he was more or less certain he had it... he'd be more certain if he could gather the courage to examine his leg more closely. With another grimace, Iorveth spat the ball of now mushy herbs into his hand, reached down without looking, pulled up his trouser leg and began rubbing the multicolored mush into the wound on his leg. Ignoring the fierce itch, intense heat and dull throbbing he felt down there.

He quickly downed a fresh potion, his third in the past 2 hours, hoping against all odds that the intense concentration of the antioxidant's rich and antibacterial essences in his system would be enough to force the infection to submit to his immune system... but he knew that was a forlorn hope at best.

Iorveth really needed a proper healer, with a strong knowledge of alchemy and possibly some knowledge in witchcraft.

He was close to Ellander by now. If he squinted he could make out the blurred lines of the wall in the far distance, but he still hadn't quite decided to go the temple. Yet he knew it was his best option at this point... Still, he could remember a small village nearby with a noteworthy healer... he couldn't remember her name either, but he did know that she was close, and that she had served his people in the past.

She had disappeared some time before the uprising in Vizima, reappeared in another village a considerable distance away just in time to help yet more of his people, as well as the White Wolf himself in defending against the Flaming Rose fanatics... and then last he'd heard she'd reappeared in a village just a few miles off from Ellander, in the swamps... just had to figure out where.

His leg he could barely feel anymore, save for a maddening itch and a dull throb around the bite mark. His arm on the other hand... Yes, he could feel that one very well, too well for his liking. With every movement of his arm it felt like the gashes would tear time and time again and it was agony.

Add the dizziness and nausea he felt to it and you got one very sick elf. Iorveth knew he had to get help, if he didn't, he probably wouldn't survive the next morning.

With an uneasy groan he climbed up onto Tirth's back, and urged her forth. the sensible animal tried to even out it's steps so it wouldn't shake her rider too much.

Despite the mares efforts he grunted in pain, his head spinning with the faster movements. With shaking hands the elf tried to reach for his waterskin, the cool spring water surely helping to clear his senses.

Fumbling a little helplessly he heaved heavy gulps of air and when he finally managed to loosen the strips the waterskin fell out of his trembling hands and on the dusty ground, it's contents spilling and oozing away into the bone-dry ground. Cursing under his breath he looked up, cursing once again for this had been a bad idea. Everything seemed overly bright and blurred and it oddly enough it made his stomach churn together with a fierce lance of pain stabbing right through his temple.

Lowering his gaze immediately he closed his eyes and sat limp in his saddle, the reigns sagged and useless, but he trusted Tirth to find the way.

* * *

 **... About two hours earlier, at the gates of Ellander ...**

"Abby, Abb- Hey! Would you wait a second please? I mean, are you sure this is a good idea? The Flaming Rose Knights could be still around. I don't want us- you to get in trouble!"

The small quirky redhead, known as the medic Shani, ran after also red-haired companion who was striding forth with billowing skirts. Turning around with a strained expression on her pretty face she glared right down at the somewhat more diminutive Shani, her eyes practically sparking. "Shhht! Have your wits left you completely? Shut up you stupid girl!" Abigail hissed and risked a quick glance at the guards who seemed to be occupied with staring at her backside and Shani's naked legs rather than paying any mind to their conversation.

The witch breathed a sigh of relief and took the other woman's hand rather roughly, more or less pulling her with her. "Ouch! Let go you hag. I was just being concerned and you know very well that I can be right, it's just been a few hours since they combed the city over." Ripping herself free Shani crossed her arms over her petite chest, a stormy look on her pretty features. "If we just wait in the temple another day or so, then you could be out and about all you want." Abigail relaxed visibly and took the girls hands in hers. "I know... and you are right. But there were some things in my house which I must acquire, things that can't wait. Given they are still intact, they can help us save more than a few of the lives waiting for us back at the temple, and you know some of them sure as hell can't wait another day. If you don't feel safe I'll go there alone."

Shani... just sighed in defeat, she knew her comrade was right. The patients at the temple were truly in a bad way, and though it would be best if they waited till the knights were gone, some of the patients really would perish before long, if something wasn't done for them... and she knew the witch had her special ways which could make the difference. "Fine, let's do this. You're right, and besides I can't rightly I'd let you go down there alone. I just rescued you a week ago after all and spent some of my bandages on you already. It would be a shame if you got cut down now after all that effort."

The witch grinned and together the two women made their way down the road, looking like just a couple of women walking about and enjoying the golden sun's rays.

Walking it by foot it took them a good two hours to finally reach the village which lay in the shadow of a pretty open bosk... or at least it had, though said bosk was nearly burned down by now and everyone was lucky that the flames haven't sprung over to the great forest nearby. Shani rubbed her arms uneasily and looked about carefully, as if expecting someone to jump out from behind any corner.

"Look out for anyone approaching, I won't be long!" Abigail whispered in a rush.

Both women were shaken by the destruction and death around them, but it couldn't be helped. It was an age of madness & disdain, and they did what they could. _Even if it's not nearly enough._ Shani thought regretfully.

Abigail rushed over to the ruins of her hut and began carefully digging about in the ash and the rubble, desperately hoping to find something. Shani meanwhile positioned herself on the main road that once lead right through the village, looking out to both sides with keen eyes. At first she didn't really trusted her eyes, thought it a trick of the sun and the heated wafting in the distance but after a couple more minutes she was sure that there was a lonesome rider approaching.

She couldn't make out much yet, but could say for sure that the man was alone. "Abby, there's a rider coming! I can't tell who they are, but they're coming from the north-east." The witch looked up from her work and wiped her hands on the apron over her skirts. "Can't be man of the Flaming Rose then... Keep your eyes open, could be a traveler, or it could be crazed deserter, you never know with people these days."

Shani nodded, though she wished that she could argue in the stranger's favor, but too much had happened the past 4 years, for anything to much shock her anymore, and she did fear that she could be getting rather a bit cynical. She shielded her eyes with her hand to get a better look on the stranger who was approaching them at a rather speedy pace.

It soon became obvious that the man, she was sure now it was man. Broad shouldered and quite tall, either disabled, old or very sick.

He swayed dangerously in his saddle, his head hanging down as if asleep. Shani frowned softly, her heart telling her that this stranger needed her help. And then she was sure he needed it, close enough by now that she could make him out as an elf. His skin shone with sweat, more than it should and he seemed sickly pale. And not to mention his dangerous swaying of course.

"All clear, just an elf... and he seems inured. Looks to have fever from what I can see, and a bad one. We have to help him Abby ." Her heart keen on helping the elf, it was in her blood and her great passion. Abigail just raised an unsure eyebrow and glanced at him herself to be sure he'd pose no threat.

Convinced of that fact she sighed and set back to work, a little faster now. She had a strange feeling all of a sudden, and a rather familiar one at that.

* * *

Iorveth swayed on his mare, his gaze unfocused and blurry at the edges. He felt so hot all of a sudden, the linen shirt under his armor drenched with cold sweat before the intense heat was replaced by a feeling as if he was dropped into a winter lake. With his teeth rattling he tilted his head a little... Must be close now... He could hear the crackle of bonfires, smell the meat the villagers prepared for supper, now that the day's work was done. The elf smiled almost drunkenly, his mind a haze of sluggish, unconnected thoughts. Only Tirth's bickering made him look up, the mare nervously tearing on the reigns that he held loosely between fingers that no longer possessed much of any strength. The sight needed about five minutes to really make an impact on the sick elves mind, his body convulsing finally. Iorveth couldn't tell why but he leaned over the right side of his horse and retched violently, so hard that it made his stomach clench painfully. The village was destroyed, burned to ground and he could make out the twisted bodies of some villagers, their flesh still hot and steaming... Filling the air with it's stench.

It was then that he spotted the two red-haired women close to a burned down hut, one searching the other observing, her eyes set on him though he couldn't make out her expression, it was difficult to focus.

Though, the other he recognized as the healer his people told him about and his mind eased a little. In fact he was grateful for the fact that he ran into them here even though the village was utterly destroyed. Luck seemed with him, for once.

Coming to a halt just a few meters away from the two women he could see the short-haired lass running over to him and he knew he had seen her before.. ages ago it felt.

It was hard to tell through his hazy vision, but she did look to be a pretty one indeed, at first he took her for Aen Seidhe, but the closer she came the more he could see of her and also her round auricles. No kinswoman then, but still a welcome sight nonetheless.

Suddenly though she turned around with a terrified expression and he couldn't tell why but she shouted a name "Abigail! Abigail run!" The elf did not comprehend what was going on until he saw the mob of nearly a dozen peasants, all armed with their tools and running towards the woman.. Abigail.

"Witch! It was your fault they came for our village!" "Whore!" "Demoness!" "Seductress!" They all screamed in a mix of hateful voices. And that's when Iorveth understood. _They give her the fault that their village was destroyed.._ He thought in understanding just as his eyes fell on a discarded banner, baring the signia of the Flaming Rose. He huffed and looked up at the raging mob gloomily. _I'm probably going to have to do something about this aren't I?_ he thought tiredly, and he could feel the medallion under his shirt buzz as if in agreement. And Iorveth sighed.

* * *

Shani grabbed up the nearest thing that constituted a weapon, a pitch fork ironically enough. And wielded it at the villagers, trying her best to keep them back.

Abigail much to her consternation didn't run, but instead leapt to her side, teeth bared in a snarl as she gripped a book, and a handful of odd colored vials and shook them threateningly. "Back off you dung shovelling pissants!"

The Villagers actually seemed more scared of the vials, than of Shani's pitch fork and did indeed back off, if only a couple feet.

The leader, a bit braver than the rest stepped forward "Twas your doing witch!" he screamed, "they came, they came an they burned all our houses down. What they did to poor Vehmer... It was your doing!"

Abigail for her part looked completely uncowed. "Are you sure it was me, and not the fact that 'poor Vehmer' was running a running a fisstech operation out his own home, in congruence with half of your fucked up little village!?" She demanded, her tone pitiless and full of scorn. "Ooh or maybe it was the fact that not only did the mayor enjoy fucking his daughter, but also had a thing for girls who weren't even of age to have their monthly bleeding yet!"

The villager's eyes burned with hatred. "LIES!"

The other villagers didn't seem too sure, till the de facto leader whirlled on them and gestured them forward. "C'mon people!" he roared, "The witch brought misfortune to our home, she made the Flaming Rose burn our houses to the ground. She can't curse all of us, let's get her!"

"You so sure of that!" Abigail demanded, dropping her book and taking up a handful of vials in both hands, looking quite ready to hurl the lot of them at the crowd.

Whether she could have cursed them all or not became a moot point, as the Elf Shani had seen earlier leapt forward in between them and the villagers, and a bundle of something clutched in the other.

One villager panicked and instinctively lunged forward, swinging a hoe at the newcomer, which the elf smacked to the side contemptiously and lashed out with a quick jab to the man's throat that left him wheezing on the ground.

"That's quite enough now!" he snarled, brandishing his blade.

Gazing at their prospective savior, Shani couldn't help but feel as if she knew him from somewhere. But that was neither here nor there, as the leader pressed forward, intent on giving the elf his thoughts on the matter no doubt.

* * *

Iorveth for his part cursed as he saw the villager stepping forward. He had been hoping against all odds that the villagers would take one look at a blade wielding scoia'tael and flee for their lives.

But instead it was looking like he was going to have to talk his way at least partway through this... definitely not his first choice.

Mustering his strength, Iorveth did his best to stand tall and be as imposing as possible.

The leader of the group did not look particularly impressed, "Get out of the way elf or we'll cut you down with the demon whore!" He snarled. "Ha! Elves' a jus' as bad as 'em! Nay! Worse!" Another one screamed, shaking his pitchfork. "Turn around and leave the woman be, peasants!" Iorveth gathered all the strength he could muster to make his voice sound firm, though in truth he felt about ready to pass out. "it was the flaming rose fanatics that did this to you, same fanatics that nearly burned Vizima down two years ago, even going so far as to defy and threaten the king!"

The villagers seemed rather resistent to logic. "They would not have if it weren't for this bitch having nested in our midst! And apparently she's got ye under'er spell!"

The loudest of the screamers lunged forward with his pitchfork aimed at Iorveth chest, a scream leaving his thin lips. The elf thanked his muscle memory and reflexes

when he twisted away and cut the tool in half with a clean, nonchalant arc of his sword.

Said blade's tip was now directed against the peasants neck, the razor sharp blade shaving off a few hairs of his beard. Gulping violently he dropped his destroyed weapon and backed off slowly, then hasty when he got out of the elf's range.

"Plague take you all" He roared, and decided that now was a very good time to use 'that' and he threw the bundle in his off hand to the ground at the group's feet. The resulting explosion was more smoke and hot air than anything else, but it was a enough and the the lot of them took off screaming and coughing towards the woods as quickly as possible, looking nothing so much as like a flock of spooked chickens.

Iorveth didn't watch them go, eh had no interest in the fear of swine like them.

Iorveth turned to face the two women, and saw the shorter one who he'd thought looked familiar still wielding her own pitch fork and looking cautiously up at him. _Smart lass._ He thought, _girl after my own heart._ "Are you both okay?" He asked, as kindly as he could manage. They both nodded, "Good... and are they all gone, no chance of them returning.

The one he'd identified as Abigail glanced towards where the villagers had gone and nodded, that they were indeed gone.

Iorveth smiled blearily. "Good." and with that he promptly passed out.

* * *

Shani gasped, and rushed to his side and turning him over carefully. She probed the elf's flesh with her fingers and quickly drew back with a hiss. "He's boiling hot Abigail, we have to take him back to the temple.

Abigail nodded, "Of course, just gimme a moment." she quickly began sorting through the vials she'd retrieved.

Shani has carefully removed the bandage from Iorveth's leg and her breath hitched when she took in the terrible wound. "By Melitele... it's a monster bite of some sort, a few days old...and probably from a Necrophage. He has a blood infection" Abigail winced sympathetically, "ooh, not good, surprised he's even alive." she knelt down next to the elf to look him over more carefully, she noted the outline of a familiar looking medallion beneath his shirt, though she had no idea why the Elf of all people would have it. She suddenly squinted at his scarred rugged features, "You know we have a notorious Scoia'Tael leader laying unconscious before us, right?" Abigail stated and pointed at his headscarf and the scar.

Recognition seemed to sparkle in Shani's eyes and she looked up at her friend and then down again. "You mean... Really? No.. Iorveth?" She asked faintly, while taking out a fresh piece of linen from her satchel to bind the wound in.

"Im so afraid yes. We have to be careful when we take him with us. Technically he's safe in the temple, but there might be still people after his head."

Shani frowned but shook her head, "Doesn't matter Abby, he saved us and he's in need, we're going to help him." Abigail nodded, "Figured you'd say as much. Here, lemme sprinkle some of this on there before you bind it up again." Abigail came forward with a suspicious yellow vial, and Shani frowned at it. "Isn't that one of the things you were threatening to curse the folk with?" she inquired cautiously.

Abigail snorted, "Damned peasants wouldn't recognize an antiseptic if i stabbed them with it." She knelt over the elf, wincing at the sight of his wound. "Hold him steady, he's not gonna like this."

Indeed he did not. The moment she began to pour the elixir over the bite wound, he groaned and jerked under them, and his wound began to fizz & bubble. After a moment he settled down, whimpering pitiously.

"Okay, hard part's done with, he should be somewhat numb now which makes the next step a little easier." Abigail's blue-green gaze met Shani's. "We have to drain his leg a bit at least, get some of that pus and other nastiness out, you ready."

Shani nodded. "I've seen plenty of bad wounds Abigail, I'm good."

They went to work cutting his leg open, and slowly draining the infected flesh. It wasn't easy. The Elf did indeed appear to be somewhat numbed by the elixir from earlier, but eventually it got to a point where even through the numbing liquid he had to scream from the overwhelming pain.

It took a while, but finally they were satisfied with the work, and proceeded to wash their hands with what water, and chemicals they had brought. They cleaned his wound up as best they could, and wrapped it up.

Shani sighed, now came the really difficult part. "Okay, his wound's taken care of but the infection's still there in his blood, we have to take him to the temple, he needs at least a week's worth of our best antibiotics, and good bathing."

Abigail nodded, knowing better than to try to argue her friend down on the issue. Once Shani made up her mind about something... it was generally best to just go along with it. "Very well, I'll grab the horse."

The horse was a mangy creature indeed. Short and stout like a dwarf with much in the way of scarring particularly about her head. One ear was split in half down the middle, and another that was little more than a ragged twitching nub, and a large portion of its flank appeared to have been seared bare by spellfire. The animal gazed at her with a good degree of intelligence however, and she came along easily. Together the two women managed to throw the unconscious Aen Seidhe over the back of his horse. "Shani, you should get up as well and bring him to the city swiftly. Every minute counts." The medic seemed torn for a moment before she nodded, not without bestowing an insistent gaze upon the witch who just nodded and waved her off.

On the way back to town, Shani gnawed nervously on her lip and hoped the guards would let her pass without a hassle. Usually they would, she was a medic after all and a good one at that and she had earned their respect & gratitude. But now she was with an elf, and a notorious one at that. The woman had no idea what she would do or say if they recognized the man. He would be executed, made an example of or just left to die. Highly likely seeing the condition he was in.

Shani didn't know the elf very well and what she'd heard made her less than fond of him. Far from it actually for given the slaughter she'd heard he'd inflicted, from some quite reputable sources. But even so, she couldn't leave a wounded man to die, particularly not when he'd just saved her own life, without causing any unnecessary harm himself.

She'd seen the bandolier of grenades he'd carried, and knew he could have picked any number of quite lethal ones, rather than just a smoke grenade. Which lead her to think that... perhaps he wasn't quite as bad as some would lead her to believe. _They call Geralt the Butcher of Blaviken after all._

In a small act of desperation she ripped the headscarf from his head and stuffed it into her satchel, hoping it would make him less suspicious since the bandana was a prominent recognition feature, even colored red on the official posters.

As she neared the gates her heart began to pound wildly against her ribcage and she swallowed a few times to get rid of the lump in her throat. She made doubly sure that Iorveth's head was turned to the side so his eye wasn't visible, and mussed his hair up a bit, wishing it was longer like other elves' so it could cover more of his features.

The guard on duty saw her and relaxed somewhat, though he immediately noticed and took an interest in the elf over her lap.

"Eh, what'cha got there lass? 'Tis an elf? Ha, lad looks rather dead t'me, ya can drop him here." The guard said with a sneer and eyed the unconcious elf with disdain.

"No, he is not. I found him on the road and I'm taking him to the temple." Shani said matter of factly, pleasantly surprised at how firm her voice sounded.

The guard just grummled something under his breath but coulnd't say anything against it really, and making the medicus angry wasn't an option. What if she would stop selling him her excellent piles-salve? He couldn't risk that, and thus he stood aside.

Shani breathed a sigh of relief and rode into the city towards the well visible temple. Actually it was frowned upon to ride in a city like this, accidents happened so easily after all but this was a special case and the people made space for her. Not always without a curse, but they did. Reaching the temple was a relief, she felt anxious about the condition of her new patient. Being slung over horseback like that wasn't exactly beneficial to his health and Shani couldn't wait to set to work.

Two priestesses helped her to carefully pull him off of his horse and set him down carefully on a wooden barrow with which the feverish elf was carried away into the central nave of the temple structure where are the sick commoners were brought. Only people with status would get their own small or bigger room in the aisles. Not a system everyone agreed with, certainly not Shani, but the war was putting a strain on supplies, the coffers were low, and occasionally a happy nobleman would donate a signifigant amount just so he wouldn't have to bare being sat next to the common folk.

Shani soon followed inside and prepared herself while Iorveth's cot was being set up. She gathered her tools and her bag with potions, tinctures and everything else she needed and washed her hands with special care.

Balancing her heavy bag she stumbled into the chock-full hall and sighed. So many that needed care, but not enough hands nor supplies to provide it.

Searching for the elf in the crowd she soon found him quite at the end of the hall, his cot hidden behind a linen drapery. His heavy coat had been removed, all had been actually save for his trousers

The elf looked horrific, his skin was sickly pale and shone with cold sweat, yet his skin was burning hot. She coudln't keep her hands on him for any longer than a couple minutes and knew she'd be spending a long time at his side to look after the fever. Calling out for a close by priestess she waved the woman closer. "I need your help. Can you please prepare of bowl of lukewarm water, mixed with cider vinegar, and lavender oil, and maybe bring me cotton braces?"

With a nod the priestess took off and left Shani to her own devices. Carefully the medic removed the old bandage around Iorveth arm and then the fresher one around his leg and it was clear that the bite in his calf was the worse of the two evils.

She searched a little in her bag and pulled out a magnifier that was to be worn like a monocle. Putting it on she leaned close to the bitewound and very carefully pried it open with two sterile metal prods to see if something was caught inside.

Her suspicion was confirmed when she made out a tooth of whatever bit him was stuck in the wound. Happy to make progress she prepared the injury for the small operation, her notable skill making it a rather swift surgical intervention. It was definitely a Necrophage tooth and she had just the right tinctures and potions at hand to aid his body in fighting the vehement bacteria.

Shani washed out both wounds with a special decoction and then spread a thick layer of a brownish paste on them that would draw out the infection before wrapping clean bandanges around both lesions.

In his state the intake of water was crucial, so she let a clean sponge soak up in the bucket with rather fresh well water and wrung it out carefully over his slightly parted lips, making sure most of it got inside instead of uselessly trickling into his messy hair. Wiping his sticky brow down as well. "Máthair chríonna?..." She looked up to find him looking up through one bloodshot, heavily lidded eye. Aware of the feverish visions he was surely caught in she ignored it. When she heard footsteps approaching she was relieved to finally see the priestess returning with the things she needed.

The bowl and the bandages were placed on the ground, together with a rag for his forehead.

Nodding her thanks Shani dipped the cotton bandages into the lukewarm brew until they were soaked before wringing them out just a little and wrapping them around the elf's calves, carefully sparing out the injured section. Dry ones were loosely wrapped around it as well and then she tucked Iorveth in, settling down on the chair next to his head. It should help with his fever but she had to redo it every thirty minutes until it would subside eventually. She really hoped it would.

* * *

Iorveth was caught between reality and his feverish visions until he couldn't tell them apart anymore. There were so many noises, voices yelling from all sides before muting into a collective humm that made no sense, but sounded terribly busy. It stopped abruptly and he could see the pockmarked faces, bodies twisting in agony, befallen with the plague or the evidences of war.

Brenna.. the sick bay... of course. Iorveth could make out his brothers and sisters, littered with horrible scorch marks, gashes, their white bones peeking from the gore of torn flesh. It made him feel faint and sick, he could feel his hot body yet he shivered, an odd coldness spreading inside of him. Then, nothing. Nothing but blackness and silence.

It felt like eternities of floating in nothingness, he felt the velvet darkness caressing him, soothing with its void of pain and thoughts.

Then it was ripped open and the blurred light felt like an intrusion and Iorveth would have liked to fight it off, but he couldn't. He was weak and in no position to fight.

"Wake up, Veth. No rest for the wicked, me baeg bleidd." His forehead was caressed by a cool touch and it felt like a blessing. "Máthair chríonna?..." (Wise mother/Grandma) He murmured, entirely unsure about what he saw. His grandmother died years ago, long long years ago.

Rather than his mother who had died as she gave birth to him it had been his nana raising the stubborn elfling and teaching him the ways of their people. Iorveth had always been someone to state his opinions, very vocal if he had to. As a mere babe he was no different and if something didn't sit well with him he would scream until his face was red, giving his seanmháthair a shock every time as she feared he would choke because he would not ever stop breath it seemed.

"Who else, amadán (idiot) . Someone has to tell you after all when you choose a path that is not rightful me granson (my grandson) ." Her voice was soft as ever, but helt that steely undertone she always used when she scolded him and Iorveth flinched on the inside.

"I can't remember doing anything that could have displeased you.." He answered, his voice nothing but a barely audible breath.

"Really not? And what about the villages you burned down? Taking countless of innocent lives, lives of peasants who just wanted nothing more than peace. The same thing you want for our people, Veth." She sounded so horribly disappointed that he could barely take it. Her anger would have been easier to bear. "But.." "No but. You may have fought for the right thing once, but that is long ago. You have taken on the hatred around you, have let it into your heart and fester there. Let it cloud your judgement. You despise the dh'oine for their acts of thoughtless violence... Yet you have allowed yourself the same questionable 'pleasures'. And that is what you call justice? The rightful thing? War is neccessary I do know that, but I have not taught you to become something lesser than what you are. You can not condemn the humans when you are no better than they are. I can barely recognize you, and it is not for the scar upon your face Iorveth."

In all those years he hadn't found it in himself to feel guilty for the things he had done. He had been so caught up in the vicious circle of bitter hate and resentment. Had justified his actions with petty excuses, he sees it now. It made him angry, furious almost before a crushing wave of sorrow seemed to suffocate him.

* * *

Shani was concerned, her patient had twisted and turned for about five hours now and the fever barely subsided. She could tell he was still caught up in his dreams, his constant mumbling attesting to that but there was no more she could do for him than changing the wrappings and keeping his forehead cool. Every now and then she would wipe down his chest and arms with the the semi-cool water but never left him exposed for long.

Eventually she has also wrapped cool cloths around his wrists as suggested by Abigail who has returned by now. The two women were taking turns in watching over their notorious patient so both would get the chance to eat a bite, drink something and eventually see to other poor souls who needed it.

It wasn't until the evening that the elf finally seemed to calm down, his fever slowly starting to ebb off. Only a little but enough to give Shani hope that he would indeed make it out alive. She was just done with changing the bandages around his wounds and applying new paste when she heard a tiny, almost silent sob. Concerned she sat down on her chair and brushed Iorveth raven locks from his face, surprised when it seemed to mirror the agony he felt in his heart. agony she had not the slightest clue of how to sooth.

* * *

"The Iorveth I raised would not have allowed his friend to violate a helpless woman who was barely of age. He would not have stood by and give his silent consent to such a horrible deed." His grandmother's voice ghosted through his head and Iorveth hold his breath, remembering the night she had talked about.

It had been about 25 years ago, he and his commando had just raided another village, all peasants dead much to the elf's contentment when his friend Llaolín heard a silent rustle behind them.

Iorveth immediately drew his bow, an arrow on the bowstring and ready to fire as soon as the sneaky pursuer would show themself.

Llaolín stepped closer and stabbed the rubble from which the noice came from several times with his sword until his efforts elicted a high pitched squeak and a young woman dashed out from under the remains of a house, her eyes were with fear and horror, the beautiful face and long blonde hair smeared with dirt and soot.

She seemed rooted to the spot, trembling all over and Iorveth felt no compassion. Nor did his companion apparently. "Look at her, pretty for a human." The young woman's eyes darted nervously between them for she could not understand Elder Speech.

Iorveth just shrugged dismissively and waved it off, leaving his friend to his own devices. He knew where it would end but he couldn't care less. She was just a filthy dh'oine bitch.

That those were the same words humans thought the other way round was lost on him back then. The memory together with his newfound realization shocked him. Utterly and to his very bones. He could barely breathe, the guilt and shame constricting his throat tightly.

"But you can change, my dear boy. I know you have the strength in you. Remember what I have taught you, Vethy."

He couldn't help but sob then, his fevered visions making place for a deep slumber as he turned his face into the soft hand against his cheek, staining it with the hot tears that streaked his hot cheeks.

* * *

Shani was genuinely surprised to find the tough Scioa'tael leader sobbing his heart out and crying in his sleep, mumbling a constant 'I'm sorry, forgive me. Squass'me I did not mean to..'.

She couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, she had not expected Iorveth to ever feel sorry for anything, not after all she had heard and seen. Not after the pain he had brought innocent people.

The elf had destroyed lives, ripped families apart and killed without mercy...But here was, his wet cheek against her hand.

Carefully she stroked the sweaty and slightly dirty raven tresses and the elf seemed to calm under her touch, his brow furrowed with sorrow still. For the first time she found herself thinking about why he had become the monster he was, about what made him hunt humans with such vehemence.

And the answers were easy of course once you thought about them... Shani understood that it was a vicious circle and it was said, and often agreed upon that if you wanted to survive you had to be tougher and crueler than your enemy. It was a sobering cognition at best and she felt her heart gradually warming for the slumbering elf.

She was almost dozing off not much later, slightly slumped to the side and her head sagging again and again before she pulled it up again.

Though she was instantly awake when Iorveth shifted next to her and rolled on his side, his strong arms wound around her waist tightly and pulled her down a little more and there was nought she could do against it.

Yet she tried to carefully twist out of the awkward embrace that brought a faint flush to her freckled cheeks but was stopped instantly when his head settled against her soft bosom, a content sigh leaving his lips. Shani felt her cheeks heating even more with the embarrassment she felt, since this was what she considered a lovers embrace and she definitely did not agree with his head against her breasts. But he was a dead weight on her and even a slight shove against his cheek could not make him budge, quite the contary actually.

The sleeping elf only mumbled a weak "Seanmháthair..." and held her tighter. Shani just subdued to the situation and patted the elf's head awkwardly but could not stop the small smile that spread on her cherry lips.

 **Authors Note**

 **The Grinning Psychopath: Ahh and there you have it folks. Chapter 3, uploaded at last after a grand waiting period of about... ohh i dunno 48 hours maybe? lol! ahh you fuckers are so spoiled, eh enjoy it while it lasts. Hope you liked the chapter, please review, we love dem reviews. Your thoughts and encouragements are as nectar infused with amphetamines to us *grin***

 **AlexanderRavana: Ha, now who would have thought? The fierce Iorveth weeping in his sleep and finding comfort against the bosom of a woman. ... Don't we all? Haha it's just too much fun to torment the poor poooor lad a little, he deserved it for sure. Also a bit of baby Iorveth.. Because who could say no to baby Veth?**


	5. Of Unwanted Cuddles & Surgical Expertise

Shani's position wasn't the most comfortable one for a good few solid hours of sleep, but she felt oddly rested when she awoke, despite the penetrating giggle invading her ears. She twitched as the noise startled her, which in turn made the elf in her lap twitch and shift with a low grumble of protest, his cheek pressing into her thigh.

Truth be told it did not make Shani feel the slightest bit better, despite the admittedly pleasant warmth his surprisingly soft hair and the light tickling sensation his twitching ears brought to her thighs, for she had no idea why an elf had his head in her lap.

She wasn't left in the dark for long however, as in the very moment she caught sight of the terrible old wound adorning his features , the memories came rushing back to her.

In shocking clarity she recalled last nights 'events' and couldn't believe how easy it had been for her to just fall asleep the way she did. She should have tried to detangle herself more... Mockery was inevitable and now she got whole nine yards.

Abigail the blasted wench stood there, the bucket of fresh water she wanted to bring now at her feet since she needed to use both her hands to stifle her full blown laughter.

Shani thanked Melitele that Iorveth was still so weakened by his previous fever and the toll the infection has taken on him. The elf moved a little, his pointy ears twitching but he was so deeply asleep that he did not wake up.

He wasn't exactly out of the critical phase after all and the medic told herself that she was willing to provide her lap as a pillow when it meant that her patient would heal faster.

At least she wasn't as depraved and ruthless as the priestesses in the temple who would take their time to study a well built body when washing it.. and more than that Shani was sure as long as their condition allowed it. She shuddered a little and managed to slip out of the relaxed elf's hold, only having to fight a weak tightening of arms.

"Abigail!" Shani hissed but the woman was just shaking her head and rushing out into the courtyard, probably to be able to laugh in honesty without waking the whole temple.

The young redhead shrugged helplessly and placed the bucket next to Iorveth's bed and began her routine with him. His fever hasn't risen again and stayed at a slightly heightened temperature, which was good for now and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Wiping his forehead she replaced the bandages and cleaned his wounds carefully before applying the salve and the paste. Leaving her now tended to patient behind she stormed out into the courtyard herself to give that infuriating witch a mouthful, Shani could clearly feel the tense knot of anger in her stomach and she'd like to get rid of it. In such a state of mind it's bad to work with patients, it leads to mistakes that could otherwise easily be avoided.

Much to her dismay she found the woman with three young priestesses, all giggling like stupid younglings.

"I swear she was! Cuddling that elf like there's no tomorrow! But as long as it helps the patient... who am I to judge?" The three young women giggled, apparently so amused that their cheeks already turned red from all the mirth.

Sensible as she was Abigail has only referred to Iorveth as 'the elf', since they had quite a few elves in the temple and barely anyone knew that the Scoia'tael leader was also under their care.

"So that's what you do for fun? Gossiping like a fishwife?" Shani hissed through gritted teeth, her dainty fists on her hips as she stared down the smirking witch and the embarrassed priestesses.

"Gossip? So you imply I'm lying?" Abigail countered, arms crossed defensively but she seemed to find joy in their little argument, her eyes were bright with mirth. "I.. No, but the way you say it is a lie! I did not let him, he forced himself up on me!"

Shani noticed that she did not make things better with that statement and cursed rather unladylike. Abigail laughed and shook her head, red curls bouncing "Sure, a half dead elf forced a session of cuddling on a perfectly healthy, energetic and stron-..." Abigail cut herself off and looked Shani up and down with an appraising expression... it was not a look that Shani appreciated in the slightest. The witch cleared her throat and shrugged helplessly, very much looking like she could barely contain herself. Shani wasn't really an intimidating sight, much the contrary actually.

The girl was impossibly slender, almost thin even and Abigail admitted that the strength a half-dead but still well trained elf could conjure up was enough to subdue the woman. "Well...You poor, _poor_ thing! You have to eat your vegetables you can fight off the evil clingy elven lad!" The witch chuckled and was really close to crying from the laughter she held in.

Shani herself was now redfaced, but rather from anger and embarrassment than mirth. The medic was positively fuming, and absolutely speechless. She had never been too good in defending herself in situations like these, so her mouth only opened and closed uselessly

"Ahh, don't be so uptight Shani dear." Abigail chuckled, then she looked up into the sky and sighed. "Ah, so late already. I have to salt the windowsills and jump three times across the threshold! We will talk later." The witch said airily and left Shani behind in the courtyard while she made her way to the exit with swaying hips. Shani could have screamed with frustration but instead she (carefully) punched the stonewall and noticed that she had to use to privy, and little bit of a cat-lick wouldn't hurt either as sleep still clung to her eyes.

Making her way to the private section were the priestesses lived she locked herself into the small bathing chamber and made quick work of making herself presentable again, all the while thinking of how she had met the horrid hag for the first time.

It was about two years ago, when the unbelievable had happened to her and she had met Geralt Of Rivia again. The lass snorted, trying to stop the hurtful memories from bubbling up and succeeded. It was also there that she had met Abigail for the first time while searching for herbs close to the village.

The two women had bonded fast over the mutual fascination for plants and healing and while Shani has curiously asked about witchcraft, Abigail in turn was highly interested in the art of surgery.

Despite her snarky being, Shani had come to like Abigail for her sharp wit and her sincere forthright ways soon enough. In her way she always made up for her faults and the medic found that she could never stay angry long, no matter how hard she had tried.

While she had worked in Vizima and Abigail fled the two women had no chance to meet up again, nor did Shani knew where her friend was hiding, for the better maybe. That is until she rescued the witch from the flames just one day ago and it was like two years inbetween had never really happened, their friendship had stayed the same.

With a sigh of defeat Shani leaned against the door and startled when someone knocked against it.

"Excuse me but.. Are you in there Shani?" It was Lív, one of the young priestesses still in training. "The Matron send me, she said your help was needed, we received a few more poor souls, I think one of them is bound to loose his leg. But there is a second, an elven lass, she... By Melitele Shani, it's horrible!" Lív sounded faint, her voice trembling and Shani unlocked the door and opened immediately.

Lív had always been fair but now she looked outright pale, her huge dark eyes haunted.

"What is with the she-elf? Take a deep breath and calm down."

Shani spoke calmly and softly squeezed the girls shoulders who took a deep breath as instructed and really looked less shaken. "There's a spear in her stomach, she lost so much blood! The others stabilized her but she needs your knowledge in surgery. Otherwise she won't make it 'til dawn."

Shani nodded and rushed towards the main complex, the girl following her with gathered skirts.  
Storming her way into the central nave she could already see where she was needed, the Matron and two more priestesses standing around a pallet, blood littering the floor and the way to the entrance where it was hastily wiped away already.  
Running up to them Shani instructed Lív to bring her her tools and pushed one women aside to get a better look at the wound.

The spear was broken already, splintered wood stuck in the flesh around the entry wound which was looking torn from the movement of breaking the weapon. it looked like it had punctured the spleen and possibly the stomach as well, but as it was she couldn't tell.

Shani was grateful when Lív finally returned with her large bag and immediately set to work, giving the priestesses around her firm instructions in a voice that was alien to even herself, but she payed it no mind at the moment, her full focus was on what she was doing.

She has done operations like this before of course, mostly during the Battle of Brenna and the uprising of Vizima, but that did not mean that it wasn't always an utter challenge. There was still so much to discover about the humanoid body, so much to learn and it was always connected to a great risk.

Though she had discovered over the time that elves seemed to be able to endure more than humans, their physique was definitely tougher so she was hoping that it wasn't too late already.

It took her about three hours to remove the spear fragment and all the splinters, mend the internal damage as good as was possible under the circumstances and tend to the wound, yet the she-elf was far from stable. But Shani had done all she could for now and asked Lív to watch over the woman and to do everything in her might to nurse her back to young priestess seemed to be hooked and nodded eagerly, promising that she would do all she could and remember all she was taught.

Satisfied for now Shani wiped her bloody hands on a rag which she threw into a basket full of those and old bandages before washing her hands in a lithic basin.

It was time to look after the others that needed her abilities, Lív hadn't been exaggerating in the slightest.

The second difficult intervention followed promptly and a young man lost his leg under countless tears and screams. His foot had been completely black and rotting already, hidden under a thick bandage he had applied himself. The infection had already wandered up to the knee, the veins bulging and black and she had wanted to be on the safe side, so that the infection couldn't come back at a later point and take his life for good.

It was a hard day and one of the youngsters, Vivienne, was giving her an especially hard time. The lass had two right hands and all she touched would go wrong, it was easily predicted.

It wouldn't even be half as infuriating if the girl would at least show interest in her craft, but she wouldn't touch a sick patient with a barge pole and shied away from most tasks.

Shani endured her whining for two hours before she lost her temper chastised the girl with harsh words, sending her into garden where she could crawl on the muddy ground and eliminate the pest plants that took the light from the valuable herbs. Every now and again she caught sight of pale red hair, but she was too busy to ever exchange a few words words with Abigail and actually was grateful for it since her anger hadn't yet subsided.

By the time the sun set she felt utterly drained, her hands shaking a little and her nails caked with blood and grime. Her stomach was growling with the insistence of a starved manticore and she sighed heavily, deciding that she really had to grab a few bites and see to her special patient.

The elf's presence unsettled her and she felt a weird mixture of curiosity, repulsion and care which only served to confuse her, though it was hardly the first time she'd felt such conflict with regards to her patients, she'd tended many warriors in her time, and more than few had, had reputations just as, if not more distasteful.

With a sigh she got up, brushed off her dress and decided to join her colleagues who were standing and sitting around a small wooden table on which bread, butter and wine was dished up.

"Have you seen the lad close to the window? I mean, have you _seen_ him?" One of them giggled and sipped a little bit of wine. "I have. We should surprise him with our services some time soon don't you think, sister?" The other answered mischievously and Shani grimaced as she reached for a buttered slice of bread.

"Oh, Shani! We heard all sorts of interesting things about your new patient. You know, the elf." The first one piped up suddenly, her eyes alight with mischief and curiosity.

The medic sighed exaggerated and took a large bite before answering. "So, and what have you heard Mariann?" Shani said, tension in her voice.

Mariann just chuckled and shrugged innocently. "I heard he's quite handsome. Ivory skin. Raven black hair and a body worth worshiping." Shani spluttered and could barely prevent herself from spitting out the bite she had just taken.

"So what's your point?!" She wheezed and Mariann crossed her arms exasperated. "Well is it true? I haven't seen him for meslf yet and I'm curious."

The redhead shook her head and seemed helpless. "I will not help you in your perversions!" That indeed made Mariann laugh and the others giggled with her. "Perversions? Well I heard you have quite enjoyed his affections, unwilling or not."

Inwardly Shani cursed Abigail for what felt like the umpteenth time. "It was **nothing** like that. And yes he is quite handsome. Satisfied?" Mariann rolled her eyes and snickered. "Fine fine, have it your way." She said with a wink and made her leave to the central nave to tend to some patients, probably.

Finishing her snack hastily she herself want back to the patients, knowing she had to look after Iorveth.

To her discomfort Abigail was sitting in the chair next to the elf's cot and seemed to knit. Shani strode over, her anger bubbling up again when she quietly hissed, "I swear did not encourage it Abby! Do you think I coddle every patient and allow them to huddle against me like I'm their ma?" , trying to keep her voice low so she would not disturb the elf or any of the other patients.

Abigail just grinned mischievously, her amber eyes still only fixed on the sock in her lap which she was knitting, occasionally weaving nettles in ever so delicately.

"Well, not every patient. But this one." The witch said and nodded at the drapery that faintly showed the silhouette of the elf.

The young medic was positive that she would never hear the end of it. "He was feverish and he dreamed, I checked on him and suddenly his arms were around me. I tried but he left me no space to move!" Shani hissed and then crossed her thin arms with an obvious huff, apparently unwilling to discuss matters any further.

Giggling Abigail got up and threw the finished woolen sock at Shani, not without looking around carefully though, the smile never leaving her peach colored lips. "Give that to your patient with the gammy foot, it'll help him."

The witch turned to leave but looked over her shoulder once more. "I also think your patient has woken up quite a while ago." She whispered and really made her way out this time, over to the small shack they shared.

Shani had been lucky to get that one, she had been taking care of the son of a nobleman and rescued him from a certain death, in exchange she was gifted the small place she could call her own now.

Shani now shared it with the infuriating hag, trying her best to keep her safe from Radovid's Witch Hunters which meant that the woman had to stay inconspicuous, but also not so much that her inconspicuousness would arise suspicion.

Basically it was a wild card, everyone could be aspersed by anyone, due to patty disputes with devastating consequences.

It was a mad time.

And indeed, Abigail was right. There was a stirring behind the curtains and a soft groan and Shani pulled the linen drapery aside to greet her patient.

Long, thick lashes were fluttering, pearly teeth revealed with a pained snarl and Iorveth felt like the weight of the world was pressing slowly on his body. His body was aching all over now but at least he felt that his fever has subsided and the infection as well apparently, for there was no maddening itch or the dull throbbing of swollen blood vessels any longer.

Still, his arm and leg ached when he carefully tried to move and he knew it would take quite a while until he was recovered enough to actually get up and walk around.

He would need a lot of exercising after, he thought with a wistful sigh. The next thing he noticed was that he was almost naked, even his headscarf was gone and exposed the mark of his shame to everyone who came for a gloat.

The elf grit his teeth, his eye scanning the area close-by, hoping he would find his gear but he was left disappointed. With the disappointment rose his anger, he could tell he was in the temple of Melitele but how he had gotten here.. That he did not remember. Maybe it'd come to him later.

Iorveth's gaze was fixed on the ceiling when the person came in and only when she was close and speaking did he turn his penetrating gaze slowly.

The elf's gaze was rather cold, but not ungrateful. He knew she must have rescued him.

"I see you finally woke up, that's good. I'm Shani, I saw to your wellbeing." She seemed a little uncomfortable, he could not blame her. People mostly were in his presence. If he knew why she was really uncomfortable he would be stunned speechless for the first time in his life. But luckily for all, he did not.

"I see. ... thank you, Shani, you have my sincerest gratitude." Finally he did look at her and was surprised by her pretty features. They were fine and palid, quite attractive in their way, and were it not for her flat ears and her slightly too thick to be Aen Seidhe cheekbones, she could easily pass for one of his own... as it was he did have to wonder if perhaps she had a touch of elvish in her, from a grandparent perhaps.

The elf did school his features into indifference though, almost looking critical as he looked her over. It was so unnerving and outright uncomfortable that Shani fidgeted slightly, almost relieved when the elf spoke up again, his voice was pleasant. Though the content not so much. "Where's my gear? Wherever it is I need it back now and don't want it tempered with by anyone."

Of course it had been grimy and needed mending, but he hated the fact that he hadn't been awake to consent to it. He did not even know who took it, whose filthy hands were on it. He almost felt sick when he thought about Aerondight and the medallion.

His expression seemed to sober her up, for she had wanted to rant already but saw that it probably wasn't the best idea with the elf. She had to remind herself that he was dangerous, no matter what.

"It was taken in by a priestess to clean it. For all I know your pack hasn't been touched." Iorveth nodded but he did not seem convinced. "I want it back, now." He said, and though weak, his tone left no room for objections. Shani took a deep breath to calm herself and nodded her pretty red head. "I will see what I can do." Her answer seemed to satisfy him and Iorveth relaxed back into his pillow, his eye closing though he remained awake.

Shani stormed off into the direction where the belongings of the patients were kept. It wasn't much since most did not have anything on their bodies safe for their clothes.

Finding the pack, clothes and armor did not prove a challenge. most of the armor and clothes were still desperate in need of a wash, but a few articles of clothing were good and ready to be returned and were set carefully on the pack. His sword, bow and quiver was neatly placed next to it and Shani let her fingers trail over the intricate pattern of the quiver, finding herself intrigued by it.

She pulled her hand away all too soon, scolding herself that it wasn't proper to do such a thing. Slinging the weapon belt with the sword and quiver attached to it over her shoulder she buckled under the weight and cursed silently before hooking the bow over her shoulder as well.

Picking up the rest of the stuff she startled when she heard the clinking noise of something hitting the stone ground and immediately feared to have broken something.

Her eyes scanned the floor until she found what she was looking for. Shani's brows furrowed in confusion when she took a closer look at the unharmed pendant, sure that her eyes betrayed her. But they did not.

It really was a Witcher amulet, the form of the wolven skull allowing no chance to be mistaken.

She gasped almost inaudibly and picked the necklace up, the metal smooth and cold against her palm.

Shani could feel her stomach clenching with the memories that the sight of this amulet brought her and she had to stifle a small sob. Crying wouldn't help now, besides it was stupid to weep over such an old wound now, was it? It still hurt though, and the lass almost feared that it always would.

Her love for Geralt had been genuine, she had fancied him for quite a while but gave up her hope when she had thought he died... But then there he was two years ago, alive and as charming and taciturn as ever. He had played with her heart and then dropped her like a hot potato to crawl back to his blasted witch.

Shani hasn't noticed that she has held the amulet so tight that it nearly broke the delicate skin of her palm. With a sigh she released her hold around it and shoved it back into the pack. Of course, she was immensely curious on how Iorveth has gotten his hands on a Witcher amulet. Has he?... her heart dropped for a moment but then she shook her head, sure that the elf did not kill a Witcher for it. At least she hoped that.

She would like to ask but knew that it was too soon, if she asked now the elf would only suspect that she searched his belongings against his will and she wanted to avoid a confrontation if possible.

Making her way back to Iorveth she placed the items neatly on the ground under his scrutinizing glare, relieved when he seemed satisfied.

"You must be hungry, and thirsty. I shall bring you something." The medic seemed to be intent on getting away from him and suddenly Iorveth felt a tad bad for her as he recalled the dreams he has had when he had been flat out with fever.

He would have liked to deny the accusing words, but he could not. They were true, so bitterly true.

He thought on what his grandmother had shown him in the memories... what she'd said. And... as much as he'd like to deny it, as much as he'd like to ignore the fever dreams... he couldn't, cause he knew his actual grandmother would indeed have said and done all of that and more... she would not at all be pleased with the creature he had become.

With a determined expression he swore himself to help this lass, Shani, as soon as he was able to. He knew it was only a small service he could provide but if he started with doing amends he could just as well do it here.

 **Authors Note**

 **AlexanderRavana:** Y'know guys and gals, I'm really immensively grateful for the attention this fiction has got already.  
That so many people are interested in the ad-and misadventures of this cursed elf as we describe them.  
I have long felt that there was not enough Iorveth fiction material out there and it's really fun to see how many people seem to agree with me, with us, here.

It's always a joy when my phone vibrates and I open my mail just to see that another review has been written.  
Because these are what really keeps a writer going, next to the ideas that burn within us.

And, talking about ideas so conveniently right now hehe, without my amazing partner this story would be only half as good, if not worse.  
He is the one coming up with the really great ideas most of the time, shaping the way this story goes and without him I would be at a lost fast, I can assure you that.  
I'm just the one padding this story, writing it and thusly doing all the detailing and characterization.  
But really, we help each other in equal measure, as it should be, and I'm immensely curious where our lunatic minds take us.

 **The Grinning Psychopath** : heh ahh what he said and more pretty much. Eh can't think of much to say today, apologies for the shorter than usual chapter, but if its any consolidation, things will be getting interesting indeed soon here. Iorveth's dear seanmhathair, shall be appearing to deliver more exciting lectures to our favorite elf, more old faces shall appear (One of which none of you at all will expect i guarantee it lol!) and a whole lot more.

Special thanks to

 **ThurstonRam**

 **Lumisohjo**

 **Sellmie**

And last but not least **h34rt1lly** for your kind, inspiring and helpful words.  
I love to read that you enjoyed the journey thusfar, and the constructive criticism was most helpful as well.  
We hope to read more from you guys, as well as new readers!

Never be shy about telling us what you think. We never bite. At least not hard. ;)


	6. Of Amends & Wolf's Bane

Deep, conscious breathing. _In and out, and in, and out_. Iorveth tensed his muscles and pushed his body up in the air in a simple handstand. At least it should be simple but he had problems holding the position. Though, after a few more deep breaths he has stabilized his stance, his bare chest shining with perspiration. The wound in his arm smarted still, it had been six days now, six days doing absolutely nothing and he was so sick of it.

The elf was used to being on the move, his muscles always in use and the past almost-week has made his mood foul. He just had to do something. So he slowly and deliberately enured his weakened body to exercise with soft stretching drills that were meant for situations like these.

Lowering his underarms slowly on the ground he exhaled slowly and bent his legs forward into the direction of his head, clearly feeling the strain in his back and his thighs. The pose wasn't perfect and he knew it. But no matter how hard he worked he would never reach perfection again. The countless times he had broken his bones, torn his muscles and the poor conditions under which he lived for long spans of time had left parts of his body degraded, aged before their time, and gout-ridden and that made fluent motion sequences almost impossible.

With a growl he gritted his teeth and furrowed his dark brow when a sharp pain shot through his back, but he stubbornly breathed through it until it subsided. Truly, his body wasn't the fittest anymore, but it still bowed to his will and did what he demanded from it. And that was all he asked, all he could hope for really.

Shani of course had tried to stop him this very morning when he got up and went out into the courtyard, swarming around him and telling him that it was way too early for exercising his body, he should at least wait three more days. His fever might come back or the wounds could open again. Also, using up so much strength could make his body more prone to a recurring infection.

But he had snapped at her, telling her that he was well aware of all that, and she didn't need to coddle him, he knew what he was doing and he was perfectly fine.

All in a rather harsh tone, of course and _yes_... He probably did sound arrogant and baleful, no denying that. But did she have to be _so_ insistent?

The redhead had definitely been angered, her lips a tight line but she had only nodded and stormed off with heavier steps than strictly necessary and Iorveth had been satisfied to be finally left alone.

Though now that he was thinking about it he felt a hint of remorse, for she truly had not deserved it. The dh'oine had been rather pleasant. She had left him his autonomy because he was definitely not going to use a bedpan. **Ever**. At least not while he was conscious and he outright hated it to have work done for him when he could do it himself. Shani has asked no questions and treated him with respect, all he could ask for, really. As he sighed, the tips of his feet touched the ground in front of his face and he smiled a little, despite the pain, proud that he could still go that far. Iorveth held it for a couple of minutes before easing his legs back again slowly, that is until a giggle ripped him out of his meditative concentration.

"Did you hear what they say?" one of the two women asked, while Iorveth refused to look at them, his mouth a set line. Bloede dh'oine wenches and their **ridiculous** gossiping! "No, what do they say?" The other said, definitely younger judging the sound of her voice. "They say that you gain a few years by bedding an elf." Giggles followed and Iorveth realized that they have deliberately spoke loud enough for him to understand perfectly fine what they said.

The next second was a pure reflex movement and he was on his feet in a movement as fast and smooth as that of a mountain lion, driven by his sudden anger.

Mariann and her companion immediately startled, and she shrieked with a hand on her heart.

"Be gone and leave me be, doddery wenches. Before I **make you** go. So spare me with that idiotic gossip of yours and spread it where it doesn't offend my ears, if you have to." The elf hissed, his teeth slightly bared in a show of clear anger.

Mariann just grabbed the young priestess and rushed off, she was not a woman easily ashamed but the elf's tirade somehow had her redfaced from shame.

The elf huffed, angered now that he had been interrupted in his training and he didn't really felt like getting into it again, but also wasn't sure what else to do since he wanted to escape the stench and the mass of sick people for as long as possible.

With a sigh Iorveth closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, not even noticing when his feet started to move on their own accord, a slow side stepping movement, left and right and back again.

It was slow but rhythmic and he slowly built speed to a rhythm in his head, his eyes closed as he did so. The elf moved in a wide circle, twisting around with every step in smooth, acrobatic movements until soon he twisted with every step, and got faster. Once he had built up enough speed and felt secure in his movements he easily jumped up into the air, his body spinning around its own axis and it almost looked like a dance, yet energetic and somewhat aggressive. It ended it a cartwheel without him using his hands it did hurt his bones but he did now allow himself to let the pain bring him out of his rhythm. Instead he continued with a low spinkick, slow enough to look like a dance, yet fast enough to keep it's aggressiveness.

His people call it Mae Dawns Ymladda, The Dance Of War. It combines martial arts with elegance and rhythmic tones and is used to steel ones body or right before a fight to reach the right mindset. It's aggression mirrors the despair and hate of his people for those who have driven them out of their cities and sullied their culture with their apish filth. He always felt free when performing it but knew he shouldn't overdo it.. Just a little longer, he liked to fly.

Shani raised her brow when Mariann stormed past her, cheeks aflame and eyes averted. The medic knew that the elf was out there in they courtyard and sighed inwardly. She could not deny that he was polite, he cleaned up after himself, even insisted on doing so. The priestesses and old Gerda truly were thankful for that, they has more than enough to do with all the sick people producing enough waste on their own.

Yet the Aen Seidhe was... Prickly. Handling him was not easy and while he treated her with respect and gratitude he was a very impulsive being and quick to anger. Iorveth was like the weather, unpredictable and dangerous. He could appear calm but behind his eye clouds were already blackening and soon a storm would come, short and fierce. There was a restless energy about Iorveth that unnerved Shani and sometimes made her hairs stand on end, a feeling she did not appreciate very much.

A frown pulled on her peachy lips when she cautiously stepped out into the garden, her eyes scanning the courtyard for the elf. Under all circumstances did she wanted to prevent to interrupt him in anything. He treated her with respect but at the same time let her feel that she still was just a ' _bloede dh'oine'_ and at other times, though those were rare, he looked almost apologetic.

He made no sense to her... But what did Geralt say to her and Dandelion once? Elves were ultimately different from humans, no matter how alike we might look, we are different.

Shani clung a little to that statement, since the Witcher always seemed so wise to her and his predictions mostly proved to be right. So she faced all elves with polite cautiousness, tested the waters before becoming hearty or keeping her distance. And so far she has fared well with that tactic.

The lass was stunned when she found the elf in the midst of a complicated but beautiful looking movement sequence. The power in his limbs captured her and she found that she could not look away, found that she did not wanted to interrupt him.

So she kept quiet and silently observed. Shani could not deny that Iorveth was beautiful in this very moment, he seemed to fly over the ground, his body twisting and bending, glistening in the dim sun.

But there was also her medic eye that noticed the stiffness in his back and his knees, as well as one shoulder and some of his fingers.

His hardships have taken their toll on him, that much was obvious. It was fascinating how he still managed to make it look so effortless.

She barely noticed she was outright staring until to her intense mortification she heard his voice.

"Came to gloat, as though I was a caged animal in a zoo? Look somewhere else for your entertainment, you won't get it from me _dh'oine_. Now leave me alone."

At first Shani felt mortification, and then anger. "I didn't come to gloat. I do not care if you are human, of of the elven kin! I care for all my patients and that's what you are to me and you are overexerting yourself. I don't want all my work to be null and void just because a certain sir couldn't keep his bones still!"

She wasn't exactly shrieking, but she wasn't exactly quiet about it as well and the elf flinched a little, he has not expected this.

"I do not need to be coddled and looked after, I did what I needed to do. There is no need to sneak up on me like a thief, is there now?" Iorveth almost spat, it irked him to be so dependent on those he has sworn to fight. 'Innocent' or not.

Shani could not object to that. She has sneaked up on him, but with his best intentions! Huffing with a stormy expression she stomped off, turned once as if to yell something but just shook her head and left the stubborn, oafish elf behind.

"Is that how we show our gratitude, Veth? Pride as been the death of many. Remember that, idiot." Iorveth hissed and ruffled his hair, flinching when his palm grazed his scar. He could do well with all the voices leaving his head, especially hers. She was right. Of course his seanmháthair (grandmother) was right... Always.

He knew that Shani has not deserved to be treated such, and he also knew that he had to make it up to her somehow. He owed her. Knew how dangerous it was to take in a Scoia'tael, even in a time like this. Or especially in a time like this.

Rubbing his sweaty neck the elf sighed and reluctantly went back inside, to see if he could help. His leg was smarting a little, but he paid it no mind. It would go away, he was sure.

Shani hadn't even really set a foot into the temple when Lív came running up to her. The girl looked disheveled and paniced. Her big dark eyes seemed to take over her whole face when she looked up at the medic.

"Shani! Shani! The elven lass! She ..she.." The young girl seemed to be completely out of breath and could bearly speak a word while she gasped for breath.

The redhead frowned a little, her sorrow creasing her brow as she put her hands on Lív's shoulders and stroked them softly to calm the girl. "Calm down Lív and take a deep breath. Come, you can tell me what happened while we go to her and look what we can do."

Nodding frantically Lív really tried to calm down and even closed her eyes for a couple of seconds to center herself while they sidled through the cots to the elven woman.

"She started trashing gradually and moaned as if in great pain. Her clothes were soaked in sweat and her skin is burning like fire! The stitches did not look well either, they seem to be inflamed and the skin is even hotter there." Shani listened attentively and her frown edged even deeper.

She had feared that this would happen, that the wound got infected, or that she maybe missed a single splinter inside that now caused all the trouble.

With a sigh she nodded and pressed her lips together when they reached the cot with the elven lass.

Her skin was pale and looked terribly sick, almost waxen and the slick sheen of sweat wasn't making her look any better. But worst of all was the wound on her stomach.

It seemed that the stitches were being refused by her body, even though Shani has took greatest care in cleaning them thoroughly. The medic felt slight panic arise in her, panic that she might loose the woman. But she knew that panic was dangerous so she fought it down and let her professional side surface.

She was glad to see that her bag with tools was already there, undoubtedly placed there by Lív and she set to work immediately.

An hour into it and Shani was close to despairing. She found no way to help the elf and it was getting worse by the minute. The time worked against her and she found no solution to the problem at hand.

She did not respond to any tinctures or potions she gave her and Shani was at her wits end. All she could do now to relief the lass from her pain and at least grant her unconciousness where she wouldn't feel the pain so bad. Shaking a little the medic reached for a worn wooden club, raised her hand and did not even register Lívs surprised face until a strong hand encircled her wrist and prevented the club from hitting the elven girls head.

"Let me help you. I know what she needs." Came the explanation and Shani recognized the voice as Iorveth's. She knew it would be stupid to refuse his help, just because she held a grudge against him because he was acting like an arse, so she nodded and he let go of her.

"I appreciate any help. I hope it's not too late." His startling green gaze pinned her down for a moment, as if he wanted to say 'It never is', but he kept his mouth shut instead and looked down at the elven woman when he came to stand at the bed-head.

Almost tenderly he laid his slender hands against her sweaty temples, his thumbs caressing her forehead carefully, and fingers lightly caressing her delicate pointed ears as he peered down at her. It seemed to get her attention and she looked up with clouded eyes, obviously recognizing him as one of her own.

Shani did not want to stand by idly, but she had no idea what else she could do that she hasn't tried. And she was almost thankful when the Scoia'tael spoke up again.

"Do you have potions around with Hemlock or Wolf's Bane? Or the herbs? A brew would help considerably." Immediately he looked down again and began to shush the crying elf beneath him in a soothing voice, a voice that even calmed Shani and let a pleasant chill run down her spine, the hairs on her arms standing.

She felt the soft, very subtle hum of magic in her body when he spoke and was fascinated that it really helped to calm the woman.

"But... those are poisono-" Iorveth shook his head and cut her off. "No. Not for my people. It will help her so would you _please_ get some?" It almost sounded like a command and Shani only found herself nodding and rushing off to the small chamber with supplies. There really wasn't much left and the really helpful stuff was locked away in a chest, only the Matron had the keys to it.

It made her angry, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Digging through the shelves she breathed a laugh of relief when she found a bottle with the label 'Wolf's Bane, Use with care'.

Dashing back to her patient she was a little surprised when she heard the elf singing to her patient in soft hushed tones. But it seemed to keep her calm so she did not utter a single word.

Shani prepared the decoction and carefully fed the panting and gasping woman a few mouthfuls, glad that she swallowed after a short time of massaging her throat and did not spit it out. Already making for stashing the bottle away Iorveth shook his head and nodded at the open wound. "Pour it in there. It will not harm her, trust me. But otherwise her organs will not heal properly and she could die from the aftermath."

It was obvious that the medic had an inner conflict on that matter. Her brows were furrowed and she fidgeted a little, as if not sure if to do it or call Iorveth a fool.

Finally the elf had enough and snatched the bottle out of her hand. Ignoring her yelling he pried the flesh apart and carefully poured some of the contents of the flask in there before spreading the rest on the twisting woman's wound until it was wet from the brew.

"Now try to sew it shut again, and put a cloth drenched in chamomile on it before bandaging it loosely." He simply continued as if nothing happened while Shani was still shocked. She reacted fast though and reached for a clean set of needle and thread and swiftly sewed the wound shut again with practiced movements.

Lív had been attentive and already brought the bandages and the chamomile cloth just as requested. Shani didn't wanted to believe it at first, but it worked! The elf breathed a sigh of relief before shutting her weary eyes and drifting off into sleep all by herself."I.. I haven't dared to believe that it would really work. Thank you for your help! She would have died without you."

Shani seemed close to tears with her relief and it obviously made Iorveth uncomfortable who shrugged nonchalantly, his eye rather on his sleeping kinswoman than the excited medic in front of him.

"Don't thank me. She would have died without my aid.. and my people can not effort to lose lives when it can be prevented. Especially not such a young life." He said, his voice sounded quiet and Shani's excitement immediately died down with that statement.

"Yes. Of course... If you would please lay down again? I can see that your leg starts hurting again and your body still needs rest." Her voice was reserved now and Iorveth cursed silently, he had not wanted to achieve that.

"I'm fine I.. Actually I'd like to help around here. I can see that help is desperately needed and it would be a fair payback. Aen Seidhe or Dh'oinne. I will do what I can, for anyone." At first Shani wanted to refuse. Partly because of his own injuries and partly because she just didn't wanted the elf around but there was something in his eye, a plea almost that made her agree despite her resentment. "It.. Yes, we can definitely use another pair of skilled hands around here. You see how many suffer, and new patients are coming every day."

Iorveth nodded, relieved that she did not insist on him going to lay down again. And his help was valuable indeed, more than she could have imagined honestly. The old elf had a surprisingly vast repertoire in the use of herbs, and emergency splints and the like, and he knew tricks to staunch bleeding and prevent infection she never would have imagined. Together they managed to help more people than Shani would have ever managed alone and it gave the elf a satisfactory feeling that settled deep in his gut.

He would have never pictured himself helping the dh'oinne he had sworn to kill on every encounter, whenever possible. But maybe the vatt'ghern had been right. Maybe it is important to look into a new future, and to change with time. Even though it was not easy, that's for sure.

At the moment he found contentment in what he did, and it wasn't a bad feeling, not at all. He and Shani even managed to make conversation without him messing it up with snarky comments and it greatly helped to loosen up the tension between them.

Time was flying and by the time they were done the sun was setting already. Iorveth felt weak, his leg ached abominably and his head was spinning a little but he was determined not to show his weakness.

"I'll go and get us a few bites to eat. This work sure is making me starve!" And with that the redhead was gone, leaving Iorveth leaning against the door frame to the courtyard.

He had not expected that he would feel that weakened, but then again the day had been long and he had not allowed his weakened body any rest. Black dots started to blot his vision and before he could do anything about it his knees buckled under him and he was out cold on the stone floor beneath him.

Shani was already on her way back, balancing two wooden plates in her hands with some pork, rice and baked potatoes. She nearly dropped it in shock when she saw the elf on the floor.

Placing the food carelessly on the ground she rushed over and checked his vitals, which seemed normal. His body probably just couldn't take the effort that he had put it through today. Shani frowned, she had practically seen it a sigh she got up and looked around for anyone who could aid her in getting the oafish elf back into his cot. After all she could hardly pull him there alone, he was simply too heavy.

Luckily a few idle priestesses were close who helped her to bring the limp elf back to his cot and Shani was thankful for it. After all, she couldn't let him lay on the cold floor for too long.

It could bring his fever back and weaken him even more. She sighed once again at his stubborn oafishness that brought him into this situation and could imagine that his metaphorically thick head often brought him into troubled situations.

The lass felt utterly exhausted when the elf was finally settled and covered under a thick blanket and sank into the worn wooden chair next to the makeshift bed.

It's then that Iorveth stirred, of course she thought, his green eye only slowly focusing.

"I guess I owe you an apology." Was the first thing he said and his voice was raspy with sleep.

Shani huffed and crossed her arms, her legs crossing automatically in a show of reserve. "Damn right you do. I told you it would happen, I don't need to be a witch to predict it."

He smiled, and it only served to infuriate her more for it was that small smile typical to him, knowing and almost smug. She would have liked to slap it off his face. But reason told her not to, and when the voice of reason was already admonishing her, she should listen to it.

Iorveth shifted and it allowed her a good peek at his chest, and rather the Witcher amulet that rested close to his heart. His gaze was knowing when he looked up at her, fast as if unsure which reaction to expect. Shani pursed her lips, she had been curious the whole time and now might be a good time to ask. "Maybe you can answer a few questions to make up for it." It was a statement rather than a question and the elf grunted grumpily.

"It'll depend on your question, but ask away. I'm all ears."

The redhead could not suppress a giggle but cleared her throat when she saw the elf's eye darken. "That medallion... Where did you got it from? You can't be a Witcher." She said, and suddenly her voice was soft.

Iorveth could sense that there was a lot more behind that question, so he he chose his words carefully before answering.

"It was a gift, given to me by a valued friend. And it has served me well." Were his words finally and Shani looked up. There were rumors of course, of Geralt having fought for the nonhumans in Upper Aedirn. But as it was with rumors she discarded them fast, there was no use in pondering over half truths. But this actually made her gasp softly and she reached out before berating herself, making an effort of masking her hurt.

Iorveth frowned and looked down, obviously pondering something. Taking the necklace off he handed it over to her with a small, genuine smile. "He's alive and well.. If it means anything to you." The elf was not someone you would seek out for comfort, even his kin hasn't done so. They came for instruction, and sometimes advice. Oddly enough he wasn't a beacon to his people, more like a fierce sword that burned with the passion of hatred.

Shani appreciated the gesture though and looked down at the brilliant metal, the finely shaped wolf head that resembled Geralt's, but now that she studied it more closely she could see tiny differences in the maw and the ears.

She had not expected it, but hearing that he was well brought her a little relief and settled her upset heart. Reluctantly did she hand it back when he held out his palm, and insistent look in his eye and slipped the medallion back around his neck once it had settled in his hand.

"Thank you." She simply said, and Iorveth said nothing, only nodded but it was enough.

Shani left the room feeling more relaxed now than in the past week. The tension between her and her patient was gone. And... perhaps she was just imagining it but she could swear there was something different in its place now, something almost like... camaraderie?

She shook herself, whatever it was it hardly mattered, not like the Elf would remain with them for long now that he was most certainly on the mend at this point considering how long he'd managed to stay on his feet, he would surely be leaving them soon.

* _Good work lad, you did a fine job today_ * Iorveth nodded, silently acknowledging his grandmother's words with a faint smile. He had done well, despite the wound ultimately overcoming him, he had fought his instinctual ingrained disgust of the dh'oine and... actually helped them, he had ignored the other voices that demanded the blood of those who had wronged his people time and time again, and actually done things in a way that Saskia would have approved of, in a way his grandmother would have truly been proud of.

Sure he'd been forced to endure the occasional glower from wounded dh'oine who looked upon his ears and recoiled from him in disgust, but he'd done his job, he had saved people, stitched the wounds of those he had once butchered so freely, as well as those of his people, he had even gone so far as to play midwife to a young dh'oine in labor until the strange witch known a Abigail was fetched to take his place.

* _Perhaps I will stay a while_ * He thought, thinking back on the few grateful looks he'd received both from his own people, and from the dh'oine who'd looked past the ears and seen him as the savior he was to those few who would accept his aid. * _who knows... perhaps I'll end up actually making a difference for once, and inspire people as Saskia would have wanted..._ * Iorveth snorted in self-derision * _Yeah right, and who knows mayhap Saesenthessis will immaculately conceive, and retire to become a bloede vatt'ghern, start her own witcher order, the School of the bloede Draconid... my but wouldn't that be lovely indeed_.*

And it was with such amusing thoughts such as those, that Iorveth, lulled himself to sleep. He had a busy few days ahead of him planned, and he intended to be as rested as possible.

 **Authors Note :**

 **The Grinning Psychopath** : Greetings Ladies and Gentlebeings, today's lovely chapter is brought to you by: Velvet Acid Christ songs, some Within Temptation, and... whatever the hell Ravana listened to to write most of this. Anyhow hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did you should also check out Long Winter by Seventy-Four Mudkips  s/11265700/1/Long-Winter Lullaby by Chocolafied  s/11246167/1/Lullaby and The Elf Outlaw by SapphireStormAngel  s/10920305/1/The-elf-outlaw not quite as long as our story, but still their all good and worth checking out.

 **AlexanderRavana** : Ah, look at the things he does. Salvation at last? We will see... As you maybe already figured, I was extremely inspired by Caopeira when I came up with the Mae Dawns Ymladda. We get to know a lot about elves in the games, and the books. But not a looot of culture actually. I have felt the same way in Dragon Age, jus' saying. So many things I still wanted to know.  
So here my friend and I are, making up our own bits and pieces.  
If you have anything you'd like to see done or an idea of your own you think would be just the s***, just say so in a review or PM! We are always glad to hear from you guys.


	7. Of Blood & Spores

"Hold him down! He has to lie still!" Everything was a mess, Iorveth ears were filled with the torn screams of the man beneath him. A young, frightened peasant with a nose too big for his own good and a missing forearm. He was going mad with pain and fear, so much was obvious.

The elf held the human down best he could who was convulsing under him, his face twisted into a sheer expression of agony. It was no easy endeavor to keep him pinned, all the blood made the bare skin slick and even Iorveth's long, experienced fingers were struggling to keep their iron grasp around the slippery flesh. He grit his teeth and pressed his weight down on the thrashing youth. "Diabhal iddo, a leagan o hyd!" (Damn it, lay still!) He growled through pressed teeth, his moss green eye blazing and the peasant gasped, his eyes squeezing shut.

Abigail's presence had become more and more necessary the last few days, much to the elf's dismay. He wasn't sure if he liked the witch or wanted to behead her. Both he supposed and for the time being it really didn't matter, as they all needed her expertise. Still he felt a grave, fundamental distrust and resentment towards witches, since his experiences with Findabair and Eilhart and something like that wasn't easily changed.

While Shani was heating up a pan in the large fireplace, Abigail stuffed a thick bunch of herbs right into the bleeding stub which gradually helped in soothing the gushing flow of ruby red. Yet the man's skin was white as chalk and Iorveth doubted that he would survive. The floor beneath them was slick with his elixir, so much that he feared he would slip if he moved too fast.

His assumptions were affirmed when Shani came rushing for them, hot iron pan firmly in her hand. She squeaked in shock when she slipped on the warm puddle and lost her footing. As things were the pan would have hit the patients face if it wasn't for Iorveth who couldn't prevent the redheads fall if he tried, but was able to yank the pan out of her clutches and press it against the wound.

There was that disgusting sound of charring meat and the stench of burnt flesh and bone and herbs but the Scoia'tael could handle it well. The peasant not so much, he arched his back in a silent scream of agony and his eyes bulged before rolling in their sockets and he lost his consciousness. Good for him, Iorveth thought and wiped his blood sullied hands on a grimy rag that was clamped under his belt. Now he's Fredae'ach Kreuger'eth's problem.

The war had brought even more sick and injured to the temple, the only place in the area that promised any reliable medical aid. The temple did not have the space to accommodate all of them so tents had been erected in the courtyard (which did not please Iorveth at all) and also squeezed into the free spaces between the temple and the houses.

It was a sheer gathering of sickness, despair, filth and corruption. For one, darkly pleasing moment he had been tempted to contact his people, assemble a small party and burn it all to the ground. But he found that he couldn't. He was simply too attached to this place in a wondrous, abhorrent way. It felt good to help. It felt good to help the fucking humans. Not as satisfactory as seeing them get pierced by arrows until they looked like hedgehogs, but good nonetheless, and besides some of his own people, and a good many other nonhumans were there as well after all.

He also felt a steadily evolving sense of companionship towards the strange, frail seeming, but fiery spirited one known as Shani and repaying her with death just seemed wrong.

Blasted war, cursed Redanians, bloede Nilfgaardians. he was distracted from his brooding by a sighing Shani and an enthusiastic Abigail who was patting his bare bicep, apparently pleased with his sleeveless leather jerkin. Iorveth shrugged her hand off with a small sneer and she only grinned, that infuriating grin. "Good work today. We got so much done together, alone we wouldn't even have handled half as much." She said and Shani approved with a small nod, still out of breath and apparently hurting a little from her small accident earlier.

Abigail gave Iorveth an appraising look, paying particularly close attention to his hands... and his lower bits, and she got a wicked gleam in her eye, "Hmm one such as you must be pretty good in the whole pinning-down-business, no? Surely had a good bit of practice with some young elven lasses in your time? If I ever need a good pinning-down I know where to ask." The elf didn't even knew where to begin his tirade and Abigail saw that as a good moment for elegant retreat.

Winking over her shoulder she sauntered off, her backside swaying provocatively and left a slightly bemused Shani and a seething elf behind. "Infuriating hag." He hissed, his foot kicking out against the cot with the unconscious peasant.

The remaining redhead chuckled and patted his shoulder. "You'll get used to it...possibly. Most likely not, but the possibility is there. And better now than later since she won't stop anytime soon, I can assure you of that." Shani sounded as if she spoke out of experience and Iorveth winced slightly which earned him another giggle.

He only rolled his eye but couldn't suppress the small smile that graced his shapely lips.

Even though the witch taunted him at least once every time they met he never really snapped at her. There was something oddly familiar about her manner, something unsettling. He had seen more than once how those who displeased her ended up in rather peculiar situations and she made him believe in Karma again, just like his nana did back all those years ago.

Shani abruptly turned to face him, even as they strode down the corridor together an odd... contemplative look on her features and he braced himself for another lecture on his bedside manner, though this didn't have the feel of that... still better safe than sorry, "Iorveth, I am grateful that you remain here, even though you could have left days ago. Without you I wouldn't know how to help all these people. There aren't enough seasoned healers around... Most of the priestesses are still wet behind their ears and definitely not all of them are even half as eager as Lív is." Shani had felt like thanking him for quite a while now, but never really found quite the right moment to approach him. Every time she tried he seemed to be in some sort of peculiar mood until she learned that the Aen Seidhe was always _in a mood_.

He stopped in his tracks for a moment, his brilliant green eye looking down at her and he seemed appreciative of her words, if a little taken aback.

Finally he smiled and inclined his head, he did not speak, but he did not need to. She could understand him without words in this very moment.

Iorveth has never been a conversational creature even though he was fairly inventive when it came to taunts and spiteful speeches. But those were quite a different matter entirely.

In his life he has come to value actions more than words for they defined the character of a person. And he could see that Shani was a good person. And Abigail as well... More or less.

Shani wasn't much different, though she could be a waterfall given the right moment and the right amount of excitement. Oddly enough she found that she became comfortable around Iorveth. The more she got to know him, the more at ease she felt.

There was a special... intensity about him, a will that drove him like few she had ever met. It was that same will that enabled him to work hours on end, helping the sick and crippled of the Temple, dispensing aid and at times muscle-power if necessary. Sure his bedside manner was atrocious and he had a terrible habit of cursing the patients out if they were being too much of a hassle, even if they were undergoing surgery at the time. But he also had a solid repertoire of knowledge as far as quick and cheap, not to mention highly unconventional, but amazingly effective methods of treatment were concerned. Methods even Abigail hadn't known of, that had saved at least a dozen lives thusfar probably.

Covering oozing gashes with cinnamon powder and cobwebs of all things to staunch bleeding and prevent infection, soaking an infected limb repeatedly in a tub with snow-in-summer leaves and other such unusual things. Truly he was a godsend, in spite of his history and thorny nature.

The both of them stepped out into the courtyard, happy to catch some relatively fresh air. All of the courtyard was crowded by now, plants squished under careless boots and arses and the tents and cots so close that one could barely find a way through them. Iorveth knew very well that not even half of them could be helped, what with the shortage of supplies and that a fast death would be a mercy and all they could realistically hope for. He had even said as much to Shani... and has never seen her that angry with him. She had even attempted to punch him but the elf was no gentleman and had caught her fist and persisted on his point of view. The redhead had been fuming when she turned brusquely and left him for the rest of that day. It had taken some time to calm her again so she would speak, or even so much as look at him.

It had been an amazingly stressful experience, one he very much hoped never to repeat.  
It surprised him to know just how much the medic's opinion mattered to him.

He'd investigated her discreetly, just on the off chance that her open and caring personality was a farce she put up around him cause he was the big scary Scoia'tael commander. But no, every one of his people that he'd spoken to confirmed that she was indeed a fine and amazingly kind woman... naive to be sure, given her neutral view of the people who came to her, healing even the most recognizable of butchers, monsters both human and nonhuman... monsters such as himself.

One of the cobblestones shifted slightly under Shani's foot and she stumbled a bit, nearly falling onto the unforgiving cobblestones and would have, if Iorveth's hand hadn't shot out of its own accord and gripped her firmly by the arm and steadied her. She gave him a grateful look, continued on her way and there was nothing that made him feel uncomfortable about this situation, but he did not register that conciously. She was a friend to him now, an associate. Not just another random dh'oine.

Iorveth eyed the medic as she strode forward with more care in her steps now, weaving past the wounded with a casual ease that spoke of far too much experience in the matter. His eye lingered on her ample rump for a moment before quickly refocusing on her boyishly short red hair, before his body could respond to the visual. It certainly didn't harm his growing admiration of her, that she had a remarkable arse for him to admire as he worked alongside her.

He sighed tiredly and lamented of how It had been quite some time since he'd been with anyone. She certainly is a lovely lass to be sure. Not as gifted in her bosom as Geralt's Sorceress though, Iorveth thought. But she certainly does more than make up for it with that wonderful plump posterior of her's. Iorveth shook himself and felt the need to slap himself upside the head, for truly he was depraved to think of her in that way. Shani had proven her kindness time and time again, and he was... satisfied to be able to refer to her as an acquaintance of his, a friend even!

Though they had started off on rather shaky ground, he felt sure that he could... probably go as far as to call her his friend, and he had no intention of screwing that up, by screwing her... no matter how soft and appealing her deliciously dainty body appeared to his gaze.

Her body might stir his loins, but in his heart he felt nothing towards her save for the same general kind of fondness and trust he'd had with Geralt, though perhaps a touch deeper in some ways for she was not equipped with hard muscles, sharp angles and a scruffy beard. And though he wasn't at all aware of any specifics he got the sense, that she had been hurt far too often by those who she'd felt close to and he for one had no intention of winding up counted among their number. Shani deserved more than a loveless plough, and his very own heart still beat only for Saskia, the dragoness haunting his thoughts more than he'd like. Especially in those minutes where activity ebbed off and he actually had the time to dive into memories and idle fantasies.

Iorveth's heart automatically skipped a beat as her name crossed his mind, and he took in a deep breath to steady himself, even as more thoughts rushed in, and he remembered that exquisite soul he'd had the pleasure of glimpsing and being of service to. Shani spoke up abruptly, breaking him out of his reverie "Let's grab something to eat. It's past midday and we still have a lot of work ahead! I really don't want to miss lunch." Shani said and nodded towards the small building where the priestesses slept. All of them would be crammed into a rather small room due to the lack of space and eating together.

Iorveth shook his head and waved her off. "You go on ahead first, I have something I must tend to. I'll catch up later." He said and made for the main area of the temple again, leaving a shrugging Shani behind who made for the living quarters. He still vividly remembered her rant about the lack of White Raffard's decoction and other basic healing supplies.

While he couldn't do much to provide the rare ingredients for the decoction he had found others that would certainly help Shani to help the people. The elf got on his knees in front of his cot and pulled out a crate where he stored his belongings and searched for a small pack of herbs wrapped in waxed paper.

Once retrieved he unfolded the precious herbs gently and checked their quality. A relived sigh escaped his lips when he found them to still be in an impeccable state.  
Thinking about how he got them made him smile.

It wasn't even that long ago when he had the desperate need to escape the confining walls of Ellander and the stares and whispers of the dh'oinne. Not all of them faced him with gratitude, of course not he had not expected that, but it wasn't like he wanted to be subject to their hate just to help their kin. The elf wasn't beneficial nor was he a born healer. He was searching for... peace of mind, if not quite forgiveness, not their gratitude nor their acceptance.

Donning his light coat he had left the temple and Ellander to scout the grasslands and light woods that surrounded the city, and inadvertently leaving Shani to think he had left for good, without a word. She had scolded him for that a good bit indeed after he had returned deep in the night.

But the little escape into nature had been enough to clear his mind a little and settle his thunderous being.

During his wandering he had remembered the redheads rants and here he was, holding the relatively fresh herbs. Shaking his head Iorveth got up and made for the dining ' _hall_ '.

Shani was surprised to see Abigail in a rather secluded area in the room, two free chairs on either side next to her. Sidling her way through the priestesses and helpers she took a seat next to the witch and accepted the stew and wine she wordlessly offered her.

"You know, one day I'm sure he will sever your sorry head Ab." the medic said between spoons of the hot stew and glanced over at her friend who just giggled.

"I do rather doubt that my dear. He would have done so already if he dared." Shani just raised her brows and smiled a half-smile, her wooden spoon plopping into the bowl. "Guess he's fond of you, despite being a 'bloede harpy of the abyss', as he says." The witch smiled smugly at that and took a sip of a herbal smelling brew. "I think so too. As a matter of fact, I'm fairly certain he actually enjoys it." Abigail sounded smug and the smaller red-head just snorted. "I don't think the look in his eye can be described as affection."

Abigail shrugged her shoulder mysteriously and smiled still. "No, affection it is surely not, but by Melitele it is certainly passion of a sort and if he ever comes around then I certainly would gladly let'im have me, so he can vent that passion good and proper." She sighed dreamily and laughed when Shani looked scandalized, a blush adorning her cheeks. "What? Wishing to be in my stead if it should ever come to pass?" She asked without shame and Shani shook her head, her short red hair flying with the motion.

" **No**!" she announced her voice dead firm, "Absolutely not. I'm a _human_ Abby, and he's a scoia'tael commander. There's no way he's interested in a d'hoine like me! And besides that, he's my friend Abigail!... I think." Abigail just smirked knowingly "Friends have been known to share a bed on occasion, sex is a great way to comfort a stricken friend don'tcha know?"

Shani growled, "I am not stricken, and I'm pretty sure he's not either. Neither of us have any need for that and I'm not sure about you, but I prefer to keep my sex and friendships mutually exclusive. And besides that I'm... Well I don't think that I'm ready for that."

Her voice quieted a little with that statement and Abigail sighed, knowing exactly what spooked in her friends head. A goddamned Witcher it was. "That son of a hound really stole your heart, no?" Shani's lips tightened before she nodded and leaned back into her chair. "He did. He wooed me. _Wooed_ me the bastard. If he had been just out for a quick roll under the sheets I mean... I don't know. But he had no right, no damn right to have me hoping. Hoping for a future together and then making it seem like nothing but a game. Letting me fall like that." She exhaled all of a sudden, a deep sigh and her shoulders seemed to sag in sudden defeat.

Abigail frowned, she could understand her friend's struggle, but she could also see the reason behind Geralt's decisions. Leaning comfortingly into the medic she patted her knee and brushed a lock of stray red hair behind her small ear. "No, he had no right to toy with your emotions and your desire for him. But you also have to think of Alvin. You know that you could not provide him with the same care and aid Merigold could. If not tamed and brought on the right path the boys abilities could have wrought great destruction Shani. People could have gotten hurt, Alvin could have threatened his own life. In the end, it was for the best.

"Besides, what would you have from a relationship with a Witcher? You would wither and pass away while he moves on. And there isn't even the comfort of children. It would be a bleak future, for the both of you."

Shani bit her lips and looked torn for a few very long moments. The witch could see the fight behind her eyes, but it had been so long ago, the medic could accept the plain truths and the reason behind Geralt's actions. At least clearer than she could back then.

"I... Yes. I know you are right. I knew it back then. It was... was just so hard to acknowledge them through the pain. It was so long ago anyhow, and I am ready to move on and past it." She sighed and allowed her head to rest against Abigail's shoulder for a little bit her lips and looked torn for a few very long moments. The witch could see the fight behind her eyes, but it had been so long ago, the medic could accept the plain truths and the reason behind Geralt's actions. At least clearer than she could back then.

"Thank you, Ab." She murmured as the witch stroked her hair. And she meant it, she truly was grateful for her friend's words, and she knew her friend was right on more than a few counts, but... she was still indecisive.

The words of her friend have triggered an outright maelstrom of thoughts and she felt inclined to explore her feelings, just to make sure. She did admit to herself that it would be a lie to say that she didn't find the elf attractive. The glistening sight he presented in the midday sun, while moving as smoothly as a cat, did make her heat up a little.

So did the small smug smirk he graced her with every now and then. But did it made her feel breathless? Giddy? No, not at all. She could not and would not deny that he appealed to her. He was handsome, even among elves who weren't called the fair race for nothing and his scars just made him more intriguing, gave his aura a dark shading that some would describe as irresistible. But even so, they were friends at most, nothing more and nothing less.

The medic was happy to be quite certain on her feelings but she sighed softly.

She couldn't remember ever having slept with someone who she did consider a genuine friend that she expected to stick around, even if just for a while. She had seen often enough how a night of lust could end in tragedy for one had discovered their slumbering feelings which ultimately weren't returned by the other and tragedies alike. Shani had always tried to avoid that and she was unsure if it would be wise to break that rule. After all it had always served her well and her encounter with the Witcher only strengthened her resolve.

Abigail sighed, noticing Shani's deep thoughtful entanglement, "Oh for the love of Veyopatis' hairy distended ballsack. Stop thinking so hard about this! It's simple enough to figure out. Ask yourself do you trust him? And do you find him attractive? If the answer is yes on both fronts then all you have to do is go up to him, entice him with that pretty peachy arse of yours, throw him down and mount him!" The medic looked scandalized and almost dropped her bowl but it was deftly caught by a giggling witch. Luckily for Shani she had no chance to respond. As the door opened to admit the tall elf they had just been discussing so casually.

Iorveth was obviously uncomfortable in the small room, crammed with women who he did not trust in the slightest, save for Shani, and perhaps to a certain extent Abigail even. They oggled him, they talked behind his back, they tried to get into his pants or tried to drive him away with their venom.

All three things had little effect on the Scoia'tael, but it still made his skin itch.

Abigail patted the chair next to her with a cheeky smile that only widened when she saw the twitch in Iorveth's jaw and the subtle bulging of his neck vein.

Once settled with the two women he reluctantly accepted the stew and poked around in it a little before actually starting to eat it.

"I have something for you. Collected 'em the day I was gone." The elf said after two long swigs of his wine flask and lightly threw the waxed paper pack on Shani's lap.

The medic didn't really knew how to react to the sudden nonchalance and suspiciously unwrapped the herbs. She seemed seriously surprised when she saw the multicolored bunch of plants on her lab which were really pleasing to look at.

"I... But.. Err, that isn't necessary. Uhm... What are they for?" Her voice was quiet and she blushed furiously, insecurity wafting off her in tangible waves. Iorveth seemed confused and furrowed his dark brow, his green eye piercing her down. "You told me that you are lacking in many proper herbs here, so I collected some useful ones on my way."

Shani seemed relieved yet at the same time seemed alienated. "Oh! _Of course_! Thank you." She said, a little too quick and the elf quirked a small smile that only added to her humiliation and she suddenly felt like a child that embarrassed itself. It was too much, first the heavy conversation with Ab and now this humiliation. Shani wished the ground would open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

"Take care of them, they weren't an easy find and I trust you two to cultivate them properly in the gardens, or somewhere more secluded where they won't get trampled."

The medic was so incredibly grateful that the elf did not act upon her foolishness and gallantly pretended that nothing has happened. He was probably too old to indulge in such childishness she figured. Despite his initial intentions he stayed, probably Abigail's doing and they chattered for a considerable time. He really had no real idea why he did, nor a justification but the solitary elf found himself enjoying the company of the two women and their easy banter. It felt comforting in an odd way he had no means to pinpoint.

It was an unsettling experience, to be sure.

It was the same for Shani who found herself looking down at the herbs every now and again and the closer she examined them, the more she was convinced she could see special patterns in which the flowery seeming plants were bundled. To her it appeared to be more than just a gift to the temple and the patients. If it was like that he could have given the herbs to the Matron. Or just put them in the storage room which seemed like something he'd do.

But no. He had given _her_ the herbs.

Shani shook her head slightly, trying to get the stupid thoughts out of her head. Nothing more than idle thinking after all.

She was glad that the elf did not seem to notice her mental absence much, or he did just not care which was entirely possible in Iorveth's case.

Abigail on the other hand seemed to notice her state of mind and elbowed her casually, a suggestive look in her eyes which made Shani sit up straighter immediately, trying to look focused.

Before more humiliations could happen the high priestess poked her head in before waving Shani over, a serious expression on her gentle features. Shani could barely suppress the relieved expression on her face when she got up and rushed over to the Matron, actually excited to speak to her. There have been pressing matters she had wanted to discuss for a while already and was glad that Lady Amalie finally had time for her.

The two of them stopped in the canopied passage that surrounded the courtyard, Lady Amalie shortly glancing at the colorful bundle of herbs in her arms but thankfully making to comments about it.

"I heard you wanted to talk to me about pressing matters, Shani?" The redhead clutched the herbs self-consciously before nodding firmly.

"Indeed. We are extremely short on supplies as you well know and I thought about some alternative uses for the Raffa-" She was cut off with a stern gesture and a graceful shake of a graying head.

"No, lass. We have to save those up for when the high Lords and Ladies and their heirs have to be treated. Don't give me that look... I don't like this myself. But if we can't treat them properly there will be no coin. And only with good coin can we buy new supplies to help more people. I am sorry Shani, but my decision on the matter is certain. There just isn't enough of the decoction to go around, we have to keep it in reserve."

This surely felt like a blow right to the stomach, though she had half expected it. Shani's shoulders sagged and she let her head hang a little, a clear sign of defeat, yet her lips were pursed in hopeless anger.

"As you wish Lady Amalie." She said snippy and turned on her heel, not even seeing where she actually went.

The Matron sighed a sad sigh and slowly made her way back to her chambers. She liked the spirit of the young medic, but corruption was something in this world that seeped into your every pore and in order to help, sometimes you had to let the corruption in.

Shani strode down the corridor, as tense as one had been struck by sorcerer lightning, grinding her teeth just a bit, and fighting back the frustrated tears that threatened to spill forth.

She had known the most likely answer to her request already, but she'd held out hope that the Matron might be willing to make an exception just this once!

Frustration in such matters was hardly new to her, she'd been frustrated for weeks already, but now it seemed to be reaching a pinnacle of sorts and Shani found that she couldn't stop at least some of the tears from leaking out and staining her freckled cheeks. And what she hated even more was the undeniable logic in the Lady Amalie's words, it made her feel ruthless to admit it but... the woman had a point.

So many would die, just to save the aid for the grand Lords and Ladies. It made her sick to the stomach and reminded her of the time in old dirty Vizima. Shani couldn't even accuse the priestesses of carelessness for they spent grand amounts of their own money for food, blankets and medical supplies. It was a tough situation, one which probably only a miracle could fix. She hadn't been paying attention where her feet took her, staring through the bundle of plants in her arms when she suddenly recognized where she was.

Looking up with a start she saw Iorveth sitting on his bed, his long fingers gently brushing up the shattered remains of a blade which she knew too well. It had been Geralt's and her brows furrowed in confusion as she had to wonder as to how exactly the elf had come into the possession of Geralt's sword and why he was _fondling_ it so.

Iorveth had excused himself soon after Shani had been gone. The prospect of being relatively alone with the witch had been too unsettling to endure, she was a shameless woman in her own right.

He had made for his cot and in some act of silly nostalgic had pulled out Aerondight, his eye immediately getting caught by the red gem.

It made his heart flutter softly, for the blade always reminded him of his dragoness. Well, he wished he could call her his anyhow.

His single green eye assessed the blade expertly, he had wielded a good many blades in his time, and while he wasn't an expert swordsmith, he did know enough to know a high quality blade when he saw one, and this one was exquisite. The blade had been around 38 inches long and perhaps 32 or 34 ounces in weight, with a good solid core of steel direct a meteorite and plated with fine silver likewise from meteorites.

It held the fine pattern like flowing water upon it, that spoke of truly masterful gnomish handiwork mixed with a touch of the ancient elves from back even beyond the days of Lara Dorren and his grandmother!

There was a fine hum of energy in the blade that he could barely sense through his fingertips, a hum that promised that this blade would endure throughout the ages, ignoring the tests of time... Though the tests of a dragon were obviously something else entirely. A small smile came to his lips as thought of the dragon in question. ' _Ahh Saskia, my Saesenthessis... to break something as fine as this... you truly will be like a god to the people of Aedirn_.'

Iorveth shook himself from such thoughts and went back to examining the blade. The long, slightly curved handle of the working like that of a sabre, despite the straight blade to aid in careful and precise attacks, was formed of a dark bronze like material with the lean pommel in the shape of a dragon's head, remarkably similar to that of Saesenthessis herself.

The blade itself was sharp, sharp enough to cut through even a dragon's thick armor-like scales. Saskia herself could attest to that much. And the metals harnessed from a meteor as they were, were sure to damage anything regardless of origin or power level, nothing could survive being run through with this sword. A wondrous weapon like no other to be sure... though it was still broken, like any other when put to the ultimate test of a Dragon's fangs and mighty jaw muscles.

Broken though the magnificent blade most definitely was, it still brought a measure of comfort to him somehow, the dark ruby in the shape of a benevolent eye set in the crossguard seeming to devour his spiritual discord the longer he gazed into it, leaving only peace and contentment in its wake.

So entranced by the precious gem was he, that Iorveth didn't feel presence of another being till it was already far too close for his liking and looked up suddenly, surprised to see Shani standing there as though ordered but never picked up. His brow furrowed and he felt oddly disturbed, as if she had witnessed something intimate, which she had in a way.

He made a point of wrapped the blade back up and placing it next to him, all without ever taking his startling green eye off her.

It made her fidget and he noticed the embarrassed flush on her cheeks with some satisfaction.

With it now being clear that he wouldn't speak first she sighed and let her petite shoulders sag in defeat, as if all the energetic air was suddenly squeezed out of her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't not mean'ta barge in like that it's just.. I.." She was obviously struggling with something and the elf heaved a long suffering sigh that didn't help at all and crossed his arms in front of his lean chest. At least he wasn't snapping at her which indeed was a great improvement Shani thought.

"Today just has been tiring and confusing. Confusion to which you greatly added I mean, what are these for? What do they mean? I'm just.. I.. I can't accept them!" She blurted out and held out the bundle of herbs in a gesture that was almost dramatic and Iorveth did not manage to bite back a choked chuckle.

"Excuse me? I told you already that those are healing herbs for you and the priestesses to cultivate. I stumbled upon them on my exploration and thought them useful. There is nothing more to it, Shani." He said sincerely, his brow furrowed.

Shani stared at him, looking from the beautiful bouquet of herbs, to his single earnest eye, then sighed realizing herself to be the fool the elf probably thought her to be all along. The redhead heaved a sigh of relief and flopped down on the cot next to him which earned her another raised eyebrow which she ignored. "Thank Melitele." She sighed and looked off into the abyss, appearing weary and hard used. Her usual vibrancy greatly lacking.

"What troubles your mind, lass?" He asked, it sounded more firm than gentle but the gesture seemed appreciated anyways since apparently a dam broke and she unloaded a lot of things that had troubled her the last weeks on him.

On how she couldn't properly treat all her patients due to the lack of money, supplies and experienced healers and how due to that so much of the work that fell to her, turned out to be for nought as her patients perished of fever, or failing organs, which the decoction could have cleared up right away.

That all the endless death and carnage she witnessed had her feeling helpless and frustrated and how she saw no way out of this situation. And how she really truly hated that they had to save up the potent stuff for the rich and mighty in the hopes that they would be generous. Which mostly, they weren't really, at least not nearly as generous as they could have been at any rate..

It was a lot that she felt just had to be talked off her soul and with each sentence she seemed lighter, yet more worn out and tired.

The elf scooted closer, just so that their thighs and shoulders touched and rubbed her back in a gesture of companionship which seemed to relax her. "Don't worry, we yet might find a way veninde (friend)." Shani knew it might be useless comfort but she appreciated it the gesture anyway and relaxed with a small smile. If nothing else, his words and presence confirmed that she could indeed refer to the elf as one she was close to emotionally.

"It's especially White Raffard's Decoction that we could use more of." She sighed and Iorveth's ears perked up with that.

"White Raffard's Decoction? Mhh... Interesting." he mumbled. "No way to get supplies? Nature is ripe with everything in this time of the year." Shani nodded helplessly and shrugged her dainty shoulders. "Yes. But the fungi we need for it produce spores during the summer which are toxic. There is no way we can get them now. We would have to wait for fall, near winter even." She explained helplessly and the elf pursed his lips.

He knew of quite a few fungi species that did that during summer and to whose spores his kin were immune, though they tended to have an incredibly debilitating euphoric or psychedelic effect instead.

"Do you know which kind exactly?" Shani furrowed her brows in thought and then shook her head slightly. "I'm not sure... Why? Can you do something about it?!" The hope that shone in her eyes made him cringe inwardly, it was adorable and repulsing in equal measure.

"I will have to ask a herbalist then. I can't tell for sure if I can help Shani. Better to not get your hopes up." He said warningly and she nodded, yet the shine did not leave her pretty eyes.

More flower picking then... If his people could see him, he thought gloomily and sighed.

Shani excused herself before it was her that'd fall asleep on him this time and Iorveth nodded, bidding her a mumbled goodnight.

It would be the first thing he'd do upon waking tomorrow, looking for the witch and hoping she'd be of help to him. The woman liked to be cryptic and she knew that he found her mystic affectation most annoying. Which just encouraged her of course. Iorveth sighed, tomorrow was gonna be a long day.

Iorveth found little sleep that night, his restless energy returned to him slowly but surely and making it impossible to stay put for long.

When he awoke the next morning he was disappointed to find that the witch wasn't there yet and upon further investigation he made the agitating discovery that she was unlikely to come at all this very day.

So if he wanted to help Sh- wanted to help the people, his people furthermore he had to get over himself and enter the metaphorical lion's den that was Abigail's and Shani's shared hut.

Quickly the elf got dressed in simple leather trousers and a brown tunic. With a sigh he let the red headscarf slide through his fingers, thumbs caressing the worn fabric. It had been a while since he wore it. He admitted that he had become strangely comfortable without it, at least in the temple complex. People just didn't notice it really, there were many with similar and often far worse injuries of their own who were of far more interest than himself, and those who would were too sick to care.

Iorveth expression turned into something grim and his lips were a set line when he wrapped the already slightly rotten fabric around his head in practised movements to hide the mark born out of hate and prejudice. He missed his usual feather and noticed with a slight smile that his hair had gotten just a tad longer than usual, and it was beginning to spill out from underneath the cloth in inky black tresses.

He'd have to cut it soon, but for now it was still tolerable. He thought as he wove his way around the cots quietly and to the exit.

The elf wanted to avoid to be seen if possible and seemed successful when he slipped onto the yet quiet streets of Ellander.

He'd have to be careful, it wouldn't do for knights of the Flaming Rose or other fanatics to see him, especially him who has commited countless gruesome crimes against their kinds and the crown.

It made him almost grin when he slipped the thin hood of his tunic over his head to conceal his face and his ears from prying eyes.

Finding the small hut wasn't a hard endeavor , it was close to the walls of the city and he had gotten directions by an excited Abigail who had eagerly implored him to come visit her sometime. For what he could well imagine.

Iorveth shook his head at that and could barely prevent a fond smile as he remembered the witch's antics.

He was used to stealth and wandering in the shadows, so he kept to dark alleys and small sideways to reach his destination. The grounds of the temple might protect him to a certain extent, but out here he was outlawed and rather easy prey with his only weapon being a knife in his boot.

Once the hut was in sight he kept lurking in the mouth of the dingy alley, his keen eye scanning the area thoroughly before casually stepping out and crossing the dusty street in a few strides with his long legs.

The elf found himself reluctant when he raised his fist for a few sharp knocks. His pointy ears twitched under the hood, trying to listen for any activity from the inside. But it was quiet, safe for the quiet breaths of Abigail inside.

Instead of the sharp knocks he had intended, it turned into a soft pounding which immediately made the woman stir, from what he could hear anyways. There was some rustling and soft curses before the door was opened for just a few inches.

He had never seen the woman that tired and found her sleepy, tousled appearance rather pleasing to his surprise. "Ooh, look who's come to visit the pesky old witch. The pesky ole elf it seems." There was snark in her voice, but not enough to be serious snark. Iorveth considered this her playful snark which with he was quite familiar with indeed.

"Right, this pesky ole elf seeks some counseling." He said, his voice even as he shrugged off and stepped in once she allowed him to. "Counseling huh? Is that how you call it? _Counseling_?" Her voice was rather playful and Iorveth sighed, definitely long-suffering before he faced her with a serious expression.

"I need your expertise concerning the plants in this area. Especially concerning the mushrooms for the White Raffard's Decoction." Iorveth said straight out, always coming to the point immediately as was his nature.

Abigails knowing smile puzzled him a little but he chose to ignore it, asking her about it would only end in more confusion and probably frustration.

"Coming straight to the point, no? Then I will do the same since I have a lot of work to do myself this very day. There is a grove in the east, not far from here where you can find the mushrooms needed for the decoction. I am unaware of what your people refer to it as, but I do know that it's spores tend to have a more... pleasant effect on your species than my own, though I am unaware of the specifics." Abigail frowned slightly, and it worried him. "Even so, you should take care, Iorveth. Just because the spores are not fatal, does not mean that they will affect you pleasantly. I have heard various tales and the only thing i can say for certain is... the spores themselves won't be the cause of your demise, if you should happen to perish out there."

He was taken aback by the actual concern in her voice but nodded his thanks, his hand touching his heart in a flourishing gesture to indicate his thanks as his people do it among each other.

When he went back at the temple to collect his things it was of course buzzing with a lot more activity, but he was glad that Shani was not among the priestesses yet. He did not want her to be unnecessarily (necessarily) concerned and waste his time with listing the possible dangers.

Of course he was seen, and many eyes followed him but no one dared to cross his path which he found quite pleasing.

His horse had been brought to the stables outside the city and everytime he could catch a moment he would visit the old mare to see if she was treated well.

To be honest the mare was in an impeccable state, well rested and well fed and she could really use some movement, her saddle straps had to be hooked wider than usually.  
Iorveth refrained from using a fast gallop, it would make his little excursion look like an escape which he definitely wanted to avoid in order to avoid riling up the guards.

He was rather sure he had seen the grove Abigail had pointed him to from the last time he was wandered the wilds. He had looked right into it from the soft mossy hills that surrounded the grove and had decided not to go down there, since the air had been thick with spores.

While riding he bent down in his saddle and picked up a few leafy herbs on which he chewed to make his mind less prone to probable hallucinegenic properties of the spores. After all he wanted to get some work done instead of dancing naked under the thick green canopy.

It was an uneventful little journey, that didn't take him longer than maybe an hour and a half at most, and he easily avoided the few monsters in the area.

Intelligently he left his horse out of the immediate sphere of influence once he dismounted and left it in the halfshadow of a few silvery birches that were scattered close to the mossy hills and the grove.

As he ascended the soft hills he focused himself, prepared his mind for the onslaught to come and controlled his breathing carefully.

His face was calm when he looked down into spore filled grove and then, after long long minutes began to climb down to begin his search for the mushrooms.

The effect was almost immediate- As soon as he dived into the magical looking dust of spores he could feel it cloying his nose and toying with his senses. But his steely willpower saved him from succumbing to the twisting effects all to soon, long enough for him to find the dark and hidden patch with the special mushrooms. They grew on a small mossy patch which was overshadowed by an overlapping rock.

Quickly he began to pick the ingredients, carefully cutting them off right above the ground and taking care not to damage them. They were incredibly valuable and having one damaged beyond use would be a shame.

Keeping his movements steady prove to be a hard task all too soon though, his hands began shake ever so slightly and it looked as though the air would shake in waves around them with every movement he made. The elf shook his head to rid himself of the effects of the spores, but the movement only made everything worse and the world spun around him in a blur of colors and light.

Iorveth groaned and tried to touch his head which was when he noticed that he was laying on the ground, the bag with the mushrooms discarded next to him. "How the hell..." He muttered, surprised and intrigued when his words became visible in the air, colorful swirls of somethig, he had no name for it but it looked so beautiful that he was stunned silent for a while until he began to babble, useless words just to see those colors again.

And oh how he laughed, deep and rich and it almost felt as if his vocal chords weren't used to that sound anymore for they felt raw and the colors turned dark with the dissonance.

The elf winced and ripped the cloth from his head in an energetic movement, happy to be rid of the constricting thing.

His heavy coat soon followed and he scrambled onto his feet with quite an effort, his breath labored when he finally stood.

Iorveth's eye widened with the sight, the spores dancing around him were illuminated by tiny lights it seemed, much like little glowing bugs and he felt so full of spirit suddenly, his chest so full and heavy with the feeling that he needed a way to vent, to get it out lest he burst.

Reaching for his belt he pulled out his well-used flute and began to play, absolutely fascinated with the colors his music created. It was almost a frenzy, obsessive and fast, high and low. His fingers moving on their own accord until it terrified him and became too much too fast, spinning out of control and over his head and with an effort he managed to throw the instrument on the ground, his forehead glistening with sweat and his chest heaving.

It's then that he heard a low, familiar chuckle. "Enjoying the Midaëte delights, my friend?" Iorveth wipped around and stared into the face of his friend, Laolin, the long dead Liaolin who had perished over a year ago, by Iorveth's hand no less.

But there he stood, easy grin and red hair just like he had remembered. The elf found himself dizzied yet again when the grove arround him blurred and turned into the burning ruins of a village, an exact scenery his grandmother had forced him to remember so well, to his great shame.

Laolin's grin turned into a leer and there was something about the elf that deeply repulsed Iorveth, something that made him stagger back when he suddenly heard the soft sobs of a young girl, her prone and naked form curled up on the dirty ground right behind his friend.

She was dirty, but he could see the blood staining her thighs, smeared by groping hands and he felt nauseous, so so nauseous.

"Iorveth, are you alright? Hun er bare et dh'oine hore. (she is just a human whore.) "

And all he could do was shake his head and back away from that horrific creature that he had once called friend. His foot caught against a beam and he fell, flat on his back which punched the air out of his lungs immediately and made his vision go dark.

 **Authors Notes:**

 **AlexanderRavana** : I apologize for the delay my much appreciated readers, but things have been a little busy of late as in medieval fairs, work and writers block and loads of frustration.  
Glad to have a friend who ain't afraid to whack the nonsense out of me every now and then, so thanks for that my Grinning disaster.  
And see! We made up for it with an extra LONG chapter.


	8. Of Demons & Bountiful Angels

Shani paced back and forth, nibbled at her fingertips lightly and cursing Iorveth to the sky. She hadn't seen the elf all day, it was past midnight now and Iorveth had still yet to return. Shani felt all the reason in the world to be worried, considering the dangers one could possibly face out there. Monsters, bandits and most of all the knights of the Flaming Rose. What angered her most was that he had left without a word, which of course would make her worry, as he had to have realized.

She would have thought that he had left for good if it wasn't for some of his things still laying under his cot and his promise to her that he'd tell her if he actually did decide to depart for the horizon.

The redhead shook her head and sighed, caring for someone is not always a blessing.  
When she had a bad feeling there tended to be a kernel of truth to it and being friends meant to look out for each other, "Right?" she asked herself aloud.

It only took her a moment to think of the first person who could help her finding out what happened to the oafish elf. Abigail, of course.  
The disturbance would not please her but Melitele, there was no other way.

While she practically flew over the streets with no regards for the odd looks she was getting, Shani contemplated the last days, trying to find hints in what the elf had said and done.

Not long after she remembered the conversation they had just last night, she had unloaded all her issues on him, told him of how the supply shortages were killing her, the decoction supplies in particular. She paused to think about that... there was no way he actually... could he have? No it was too risky, there's no way he could have actually gone after the herbs, especially not for one such as her... right?

They had grown close in the past week or so though, at least she had grown close to him. She felt fairly certain that he wouldn't have listened to her pour her heart out to him over it all, nearly as graciously as he had. If he cared at least a little for her in turn so perhaps he had gone for the herbs. If he had then he would have gone to Abigail for some sort elixir to help him combat the spores of the mushrooms.

Happy to have a lead now, she quickened her pace and as a result was entirely out of breath when she finally reached the door to their hut.

Fingering in her pouches and pockets for the key she let out a relieved sigh when she finally found it after what felt like minutes.

Opening the creaking door slowly she peeked her red head in and looked around carefully, hoping that Abby was here and not out on some secretive witchy business.

But there she was, tucked into her bed and something in a kettle over the hearth and Shani really didn't wanted to know. Well actually she did, but it was unlikely to coax out anything coherent from the witch in these regards. Even less so when she just woke up.

Closing the door behind her, Shani stepped in and did not bother to be too quiet about it. After all she did not want Abigail thinking she was a thief and use some of her magic on her. Or the kitchen knife which she knew she kept under her pillow, or the fine garroting wire she had sewn into the seam of her apron.

The woman stirred immediately and glared at Shani from behind wild auburn curls. "Is there any way you can be louder?" She hissed quietly and shifted into a sitting position.

"What are you making all the noise for?" Shani shrugged and stood close to the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. "Well, to wake you up without having to touch you. I also did not want you thinking me to be a petty thief."

Abigail rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I would have known if you were an intruder, silly girl. Now what do you want?" Her knowing gaze made the medic sigh and she looked at her feet before speaking up. "Iorveth has yet to come back, and I fear that something has happened to him. I hoped you might know where he went?"

Shani looked up with hopeful green eyes and the witch sighed. Hadn't she warned him?

"He came here early in the morning and asked me about the herbs and plants growing in the area. He had been especially keen on finding out if the needed components for White Raffard's Decoction are growing here. I told him of a place not too far away, and warned him. He took off right after that."

Shani pursed her lips and fiddled with the end of her belt. "But... how?" She asked furrowing her brow, "The grove with the necessary ingredients is full of toxic spores, its the only reason I never ventured there myself!" she sounded so so worried and Abigail chuckled. "His kind does have a natural immunity to the spores... or at least a resistance at any rate. Instead of clogging his lungs like it would with you and me, it produces a more... psychedelic effect. I can imagine he probably passed out chasing flying bunnies, or something of the like." She giggled at the thought, but then frowned as a thought struck her, "Someone should probably go and check up on him though, I imagine. The spores are strong, and it could be that he's too lost to the will of the fungi and is unable to get away."

She was definitely more serious now and got up to rummage in her shelves and crates. "But how? As you said the spores are toxic to us, and I don't think we have enough favor with any other elves to ask them for aid in this matter."

Abigail nodded "True, but luckily I came up with a potion that should help... Ah! There we go!" She made a satisfied sound and when she turned to face Shani there was a small green vial in her hand.

"What I have here is a potent solution, that should enable you to withstand the toxic effects. However, it won't last too long and you should try to get as less as possible into your system. Drink it now, and keep a few drops for when you reach the grove. Wet a cloth with it and cover your mouth and nose with it, it'll help."

The medic took a deep breath and reluctantly took the vial from her friend. She really wasn't keen on going to that place, but the elf had saved them too after all and now it was his time to be saved. From a less dramatic fate surely, but dangerous nonetheless.

"Thanks, Ab. Fill me in on how to get there?" She asked and gulped down the bitter essence in the vial, carefully making sure to leave a little for later. It made her stomach churn but she ignored the feeling and keenly listened to the directions Abigail gave her. After all she did not want to get lost and find herself close to a Nekker nest.

Heaving a heavy sigh and stifling a yawn she took her cloak from a chair and stuffed some bread, cheese and two apples into her satchel before fastening the cloak around her shoulders. It has just rained and the air was pleasantly chilly, a relief from the brooding heat they had had for weeks now.

"Now go and save the maiden in distress." Abigail grinned and ushered a reluctant Shani out of the door.

The redhead sighed, wrapped her light cloak tighter around her petite body and made for the city gates.

4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42

Iorveth could not tell what time it was, what day or what year even. He had been trapped in a vicious loop of past events and long forgotten faults. Well, things he had believed forgotten but his subconsciousness now dredged up to torture his drugged mind with the worst images it could muster. He wasn't really asleep, it was an uncomfortable state in between, like floating over the edge of existence but being tied to a rock, anchoring him near reality. It made him ache all over and he did not knew if it was just mental pain or if he really was torn apart.

With a heavy gasp he found himself back on the mossy ground of the grove, the air was less polluted with spores now and he could feel why. Iorveth was soaking wet and so was the ground beneath him. He began to shiver, realizing that it must have rained.

He rolled over with a groan and splashed some of the water of a nearby puddle into his face. He winced when some of the cold liquid found its way into his empty eye socket, but he definitely felt a lot sharper now, though he was still rather hazy on the details of reality, his thoughts slow and muddy. Slowly he got on his knees first before pushing his body up to stand. His bones ached, the joints especially and Iorveth cursed softly, his back resting against the thick trunk of an old oak.

The elf had just caught his breath when something poked into his shoulder and he almost yelped, his drugged mind not taking too kindly on surprises like that. A fight would be a bad thing right now.

He turned and for him it felt like a swift turn, to a spectator it would look sluggish though, almost like the antics of a drunkard.

What he found there was a... shocking sight to say the least. The bark twisted and rippled, convulsed practically and a pitiful groan escaped the tree in a voice he was quite familiar with. He'd dare say it sounded like his very own but there was just something weird about it.

"Well, most likely because a tree is trying to speak to you in ways he's _not_ supposed to." He mumbled and flinched at the sight of the face now fleshed out in the bark. It looked horrendous, vicious and disgusting and... Yes, that was his face. Iorveth of the Scoia'tael, looking at him with unseeing wooden eyes.

It did not move much, safe for a chafing, slow blink every now and then and Iorveth found himself unable to look away, to turn his eye down and out of the spell for even a second.

Driven by some sort of morbid curiosity he reached out slowly and saw his own shaking.

He did not feel the tremor, mind too high and in utter dissonance with his body, but it shook. Fear, most likely. Maybe exhaustion.

Whatever it was it did not phase the elf on a mission and he just knew that he would not rest until he had touched, well, himself.

The final contact with his wooden self was unspectacular to say the least. Oak-Iorveth just looked at him with another lazy blink and seemed to yawn, only that it not stop with a simple yawn. The oaken maw stretched beyond everything comprehensible and Iorveth trying to yank his hand away, but found that he could no move it an inch, no matter how hard he tugged.

Helplessly he watched in horror as the tree was about to swallow him up and he couldn't help but think about what this should tell him. Swallowed up by his ignorance and primitive hate maybe? Formidable as both attributes were, far more so than his patience and good sense. At least that would be something his grandmother could agree to.

The spook stopped when he heard someone calling his name from behind him. He turned but could not quite make out the figure yet, approaching him through the mist.

Turning back he found that the old oak was standing there as still and silent and un-threatening as ever and most important of all his face had disappeared from the gnarly surface.

Iorveth wiped cold sweat from his brow and saw that his hands were still shaking, now more then ever. An uncomfortable knot has formed in his throat and he found it increasingly difficult to breathe when he squinted his eye at the black dressed figure.

To his dismay he discovered it was none other than Laolin approaching him, red hair loose around his slim shoulders and his arms wide in a warm welcome. The elf was smiling, his gray eyes warm with the fire of friendship. It disgusted him, but it wasn't as bad as what he's been through just seconds ago.

He found himself backing away slowly as Laolin approached and the other elf's smile faltered at Iorveths reluctance. "Iorveth, brother?" He called out and then clutched right above his heart, his face twisted in agony.

Iorveth remembered, it was where he had plunged his blade into the body of his former ally, his friend, his brother. Someone who had turned to darkness, and such darkness had to be rooted out. It had hurt him to do it, more than he wanted to admit even to himself. To see Laolin pierced by his own blade, all the way through his ribcage. The betrayal in his broken blue eyes and the pain. Iorveth could not just push the body off his blade.

Instead he had him slide down the steel slowly and caught him in his arms, feeling so furious at himself, at the decay of his people. Illness of the mind festering and roaming freely, wrecking and destroying.

He saw it all again now in those glazed eyes. By now Laolin had taken his hand away and the dark cloth of his tunic was pitch black where it was soaked in his sanguine essence, a patch of pale flesh visible underneath the tear that his blade has made in the article of clothing.

"Laolin.." Iorveth said, his voice hard with disdain, yet faltering in the end.

"Ahh Iorveth. Still slaughtering your very own people like a Dh'oine would? You're weak, old man!" The elf laughed then, and with the convulsions of his chest more blood was coming, a steady trail now.

"You're the one who was weak in the end, brother." Iorveth spat, "you gave your true self away to that beast, I did as well, and perhaps I was the one who led you down that path. But I never stooped as low as to-" He was cut off abruptly from his tirade however, as the trail of blood oozing from Liaolin's chest had transformed into furious spurts that traveled far, even splashing onto Iorveth's own clothes, and Laolin began cackling madly, and as he did the spurts turned into an absolute geyser, pummeling Iorveth as viciously as the alghoul had a few weeks back.

The fountain of crimson splashed over his coat and into his face, coating him in his former friend's red and warm life essence and he sputtered, turning his face away to avoid getting any more into his mouth or eye.

A sharp gasp and a soft shushing sound caught his attention though and made him look up. Laolin had staggered back, his bloodshot eyes fixed on him, but it wasn't him he was looking at.

A few feet back stood a thin little girl with dirty blonde hair and torn clothes, clutching to the short jacket of a taller woman with much the same features but boyishly short hair.

Iorveth knew immediately who they were. Ves. Both of them Ves, Blue Stripes Ves and the poor peasant girl, Ves had once been. That Laolin has taken to sate his more base appetites. With the flippant words that she was just a _useless human whore_ after all.

It made his stomach churn, the indifferent ease with which his fellow elf has said it had been just plain disgusting.

It had pained Iorveth to see just how deep his kind has sunk. In all reality they were no better than Dh'oinne and that just left an awfully bitter taste in his mouth. When he looked up again he was met by a baleful stare from the silent Ves who held her little self close, both figures tense with memory, hate and fear.

"What, has the sight of weeping wenches make the feared Iorveth go weak? What is that you do exactly? Helping a human woman, in a city crammed shut with their kind and their stink! You hide there, while your brethren die out in the woods. For our cause!" Laolin spat, his breath rattling. "You let them mislead you, eat out of their palm and had them tame you." His voice was weak now, face twisted before it went ashen and pale.

A rustle made the painfully conflicted Iorveth look up and he rather felt than he saw what came for him. The patch of bark where his face had been sitting on the oak was gone now and a figure pried itself from the ancient tree. It's torso was knotted wood, torn red, brown and green cloth covering it. The creatures eyes burned, literally burned with the passion of vengeance and insatiable hate.

It was a legend, a creature born out of the collective emotions of his people. A creature he had well embodied back in the woods of ole Flotsam. A path he had strayed from lately, he knew that.

The creature did not speak, but it did not need to. The elf understood, understood so bitterly well. He was at a crossroad now, and for once he didn't know which path to take.

Iorveth had always been one for extremes. There was no 'a little bit of this, a little bit of that'. It was all or nothing, this or that and had always been. It had given him strength and confidence and had made him relentless.

But maybe, just maybe it wasn't the best thing to do now. He needed help, something he usually refrained from requesting if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

And it seemed that help answered his silent plea now, for behind him a figure stepped out. A rather small and stocky figure, but obviously a female. She raised her hand and stopped the advancing figment of his troubled mind with the simple gesture, and they gazed up at her with frightened eyes.

Turning she smiled down at him, it was tight lipped and there was something fierce yet sad in her eyes and Iorveth was sure he had never been that happy to have her in his head. His Seanmháthair, Granuaile Aep Shiadhal.

"I've warned you of your own ruin, boy. I told you of where this rage would take you, but did you listen!?" She sighed, "Well, at least you've started opening that blasted eye of yours and began to see. You begin to realize that there is no chance of evolving, and surviving the times if one does not become aware of their own decay and mistakes." She glowered at the menacing fragments of his mind, not sparing her ire for anything, and the figures had no chance but to look away from her fiery gaze.

"We are changing, with the world around us. Slowly that is true, but mankind forces us to adapt to their fast lifestyle. And we willingly let us be dragged down into the spiral of hate and brutality." She turned back to Iorveth himself, a forlorn look in her odd gold gaze, sprinkled with green.

"We are falling, Iorveth. Everyone is falling. Some faster than others though. But real strength proves in rising above such things. Not seeking retaliation for it is a fleeting pleasure. Your heart is that of a fighter, filled with restless passion. And fight you will, for our people, but most of all for the people who _**need**_ it. Just like you did in those past weeks. Yet, do not commit your heart to something that deprives you of your passion. There are many paths you can walk at the same time, granson. You don't need to settle on just one. But you've realized that already, haven't you."

Her smile was much warmer now and Iorveth pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets to work against the pressure in his head. He felt as though going crazy and this time he does not feel as enthusiastic about it.

A fierce conflict in his heart and mind, he could really do without. Before meeting Shani he has not concerned himself with thinking of the victims of his devastating actions, after all did they? Did they think of the Aen Seidhe they killed? The young women that they slayed, which had been a source of hope for his kind.

But now? Now he couldn't forget. Could not forget the gruesome stories victims told him, their feverish eyes lost in the terror of memories.

They told him stories of the knights of the Flaming Rose that made him sneer and stories of the Scoia'tael that twisted his heart in shame and distress. He knew that sacrifices had to be made and he kept his calm when it was about houses burned down, of farmers cut down. It did nothing to touch his hardened heart.

Though there were other stories as well. Rape, horrific torture and madness he did not even want to think about now. Babes ripped from their mothers and...

The elf almost failed to hold in the bile that crept up his throat. A warm hand rested on his shoulder and he was grateful for it. It grounded him and Iorveth reached out for it, covered it with his own.

"The times are mad, Iorveth. Do not get dragged down into the pit of insanity." Granuaile said and kissed his feverish forehead. He felt himself closing his eyes, the troubles weighting down his heart feeling so much lighter all of a sudden...

4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42

Shani knew she was in the right area when she spotted Iorveth battered old mare which calmly grazed in front of a soft hill. She bickered and eyed the red head with intelligent eyes when she slipped off her own horse and walked over to the animal.

It was late into the morning already and she yawned heartily, hoping that the elf was alright. He had probably been under the influence of the damned spores for so long now that Shani genuinely feared that his mind could have taken damage.

Stroking the grey mares muscled neck she looked up the hill and sighed a little anxiously. After all humans were known to die a rather painful death in long long minutes under the influence of these damned mushrooms. And she really had no death wish.

Rummaging in her satchel she fished out the phial Abigail had given her and gave the thing a long suffering stare. Staring at it did not solve the problems at hand of course so Shani told herself to finally stop thinking and covered the cloth she had brought in the clear substance.

Tying it around the lower half of her face she took one last deep breath and climbed up the hill to save the damn elf.

It did not take her long to reach the top of it and she stared down into the beautiful cove, happy to discover that there were not as many of the deadly spores as anticipated, thanks to the heavy summer rain.

She found that once she came into contact with the spores their deathly effects reacted rather strongly with the antidote in her veins and heightened her senses vividly. Walking on the soft ground became an explosion of a variety of sensations, she was sure she could feel the thick grass under her thin shoe soles, every little stone and bulge in the uneven ground.

The air around her seemed to be aglow with vibrancy, colors a thick and saturated, blurred delight. Wonderland, it had to be, of that Shani was sure. The sights, smells and sounds made the young woman giddy and excitement rose in her youthful chest and pressed against her ribcage, eager to be let out.

Spotting, or rather hearing the elf was no problem as well, he was laying in the moss beneath a thick oak and looked more dead than alive, his skin pale and glistening with little pearls she recognized as sweat after an embarrassingly long pause. Tightly he clung to his pack, uncaring of the spilled mushrooms around him and rocked for -and backwards slowly, apparently murmuring something. Only as she came closer she recognized it as a chant of breathy and loving 'thank you's'.

The medic gasped softly and had to suppress a giggle at the sight. Though she scolded herself since she really should be concerned about the elf's state of mind and climbed down as fast as she could without tripping which was not that easy, given the slippery ground and her unstable state of mind which made her limbs feel like mush.

She was breathing heavily when she finally had made it down, the extremely toxic hallucinogens in the air slowly making her head spin.

Sinking down on her knees next to the elf who was apparently oblivious to his surroundings she reached out cautiously, felt for his pulse and checked his breathing. Iorveth's skin was hot and his pulse fast, but he seemed alright apart from his obvious hallucinations and Shani felt relief sinking in.

Though that feeling stopped fast when she remembered the state the elf was probably in. He might snap back into reality and be nothing but a raving lunatic, lost to his fantasies and drug induced world. "Hey idiot, wake up. Come on!" She said, insistent but in a gentle voice for she did not want to startle him.

The medic was unsure what to expect, but for now he would not open his eyes or stop talking to his stupid pack.

For more than five minutes she tried all she could think of. Stroke his face, encourage him, squeeze his arms and hands, poke his nose and even his ears and finally she gave up with an exasperated huff and slapped him right across the face.

The man next to her gasped for air like a drowning seaman wih his eyes finally snapping open and focusing. He jerked up suddenly and Shani had to let herself fall back if she did not want the get headbutted by the frantic elf or get his flailing limbs into her face.

Iorveth was fast on all fours and already trying to get up to his feet when she spoke up. "Calm down! It's me.. it's Shani?" She said softly and cautiously reached out.

"Shani...?" He whispered and she heard how raw his throat probably was. "Yes, Shani. Don't worry, I'm here. I'll take you back with me, alright?" The redhead tried to make her voice sound as calm and soft and possible and tried to make eye contact with him.

"No! I... Are you really here? It's been.. I don't even know where to start.." He swayed dangerously and she rushed to his side, her hands on his arms to support him. She had never seen Iorveth so distraught.

He was always full of calm energy and his mind always appeared to be sharp and rested. The sight startled her if she was honest with herself. "Yes, I'm really here. You stupid elf! I came to search for you when you had not returned until midnight. I was worried that something could have happened to you. The Flaming Rose, Nilfgaard... Monsters. There are so many possibilities! I asked Abigail and she could tell me where to find you... I mean, are you out of your mind?! You could have killed yourself!"

The elf shook his head, it was clear that he was not quite here yet. "Monsters? But they are here.. right here." He drawled and touched his chest. The man did nothing to make holding him up easier and instead leaned on Shani like she was a reliable anchor. Intelligently she said nothing, realizing that talking to Iorveth now would only lead to more confusion.

Shani tugged on his arm to get him to move and bend down to pick up his pack. Letting the precious mushrooms go to waste wouldn't do after all. Groaning under the doubled weight she dragged him on, unaware of his long stare at her backside and his incoherent mumur about angels.

The slightly green sunrays that filtered through the thick leafy canopy gave her face something mysterious and made her almost ethereal looking. He had admitted to himself long ago that he found the medic truly attractive, but now he felt real, raw want in him and silently cursed the effect of the fucking drugs that probably did nothing to help him restrain himself.

His stare though made her nervous, it was as if a priest had finally seen Melitele herself in his dreams. She had to constantly remind herself that he was heavily drugged and that she knew nothing of the damage his mind has taken yet.

Though the medic had to admit that his body felt good under hands. Dangerously good. She had always appreciated his lithe, muscular build but never really got an excuse to touch him, until now. Feeling quite hazy herself she pursed her lips and let her hands roam over his bare arm and his back. His muscles were hard and she loved the way they shifted under incredibly, amazingly soft skin when he moved. It felt like the finest velvet stretched over unforgiving steel. An unusual sensation to be sure, but strangely delicious in its way. Certainly very different from Geralt whose rough skin was littered with hard and rugged scars, it was difficult to find a patch of unmarred skin on the Wolf.

Sneakily feeling his body certainly helped her to endure the way up the soft hill which took way longer than expected. Iorveth stumbled often and groaned happily, his feet only moving sluggishly and insecure on the uneven ground. The woman had to more or less drag him up all the way and when she finally reached the top she felt so exhausted that she could drop down and sleep right here and now.

Apparently the elf had the same idea for he growled lowly and the next thing Shani felt was a dead weight falling into her back which made the both of them tumble down the hill and land in the soft grass, with the elf laying on top of her.

She groaned exasperated and a little desperate as she tried to push the elf off her, but to no avail. He was a fucking dead weight on her, now that he seemed to have relaxed what felt like all of his muscles. Asleep. Damn elf was asleep.

After a while she gave up and let her head fall back with a long suffering sigh. The two horses were right in her field of view and the way they curiously looked at the two of them while chewing their grass as if nothing was amiss irked her even more. "Come on you lazy beasts, you could help! Do something!" Shani groaned, but as expected both mares did not move an inch and instead continued to graze relaxedly, leaving the woman to her own devices.

A screech escaped her lips when Iorveth hugged her tighter, and both of his hands settled on her bottom and it did not look like he would let go any time soon. Mortification tinted Shani's cheeks red and she pushed futilely at his head and hands. " _ **Idiot**_..." She whispered and went pliant under him. Might as well get used to it when there was nothing she could do anyways.

His soft humming helped her relax somewhat and she found her eyes being drawn to his ears, idly wondering what they would feel like if thoroughly examined with her hands. It's then that she heard him murmur something which suspiciously sounded like "bountiful peaches."

 **Authors Note**

 **AlexanderRavana:** Here you go after what felt like an endless wait, no? I do have to apologize for making all you precious readers wait. I have not been feeling well and rather wanted to wait than prestenting you with words that would have been a disappoinment to read. 

Also!  
Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews and the favos! Those really to help to get over writers block and other things. Always makes me glad to see how much you enjoy our work. You can definitely look forward to a M! rated treat in the next chapter ;)


	9. Of Sundered Promises & New Light

Iorveth awoke from another series of vivid and unsettling dreams with a start, though they had been more confusing than anything else this time. He could vaguely remembering something about dragons wielding swords, a red eyed albino woman throwing him off a cliff despite the fact that Iorveth had felt them to be good friends, and... had he been holding twin warrior babies at the end? The elf shook his head in an attempt to clear the aftermath of the dreams from his head and he groaned at the pain in his muscles and joints. At least they chased away the remnants of his fantasies for him.

Shani looked up from where she sat in front of a small campfire when she saw the elf had woken up and said, "Awake at last, I see. That took you long enough."

Without waiting for the man to regain his bearings, the redhead zoomed forth to check his temperature with a cool hand before she went back to the fire to see whether the tea in the kettle had started to boil yet, all the while rambling on and on and on.

"Do you even realize how difficult it was for me to get you here? You're pretty heavy for a slim thing such as yourself! And not to think of how worried I was even before I had found you, lying on the ground in the wilderness, high like some teenage rebel smoking cannabis for the first time. At first I thought you had left for good this time, but then I found your pack, and I knew you wouldn't leave with that pack- that pack with his sword, with _Geralt's_ sword- and why do you have it anyway? That man would not lend weapons such as that to anybody, at least not without good reason, and it was broken- _broken_! The blasted thing could shear through plate armor and spectral shields, how could it possibly _break_? Speaking of broken, did you know that it was Geralt who broke my heart? He tore it right out and flung it to the ground and gave it a good kick or two to make sure it cracked and-"

Iorveth let out a sigh as she went on. By then, he had already stopped listening to her. It didn't take him long to notice her dilated pupils, and going by the slightly erratic movements of her limbs, he hadn't been the only one to become intoxicated by those cursed spores. From the words she spoke, and there were many of those, he realized that she had worried for him, and that she had many questions to which she wanted answers.

Before she could bring any harm upon herself or others, he reached out and grabbed her by the waist, forcing her to sit down next to him on the ground. He tried his best to ignore the squeak of surprise that left her, or the way her skin seemed soft and welcoming beneath his digits, and instead he looked her dead in the eye in an attempt to calm her down. It worked, and he could feel the stress leaving her body as she sighed deeply and closed her eyes for a few moments to regain her composure.

She had saved his life twice now, Iorveth realized as he watched her. Perhaps even thrice, since he had remained at the temple for her sake, which in turn had ensured that he got to hear all those tales that he desperately needed to hear, even though he hadn't realised it until now. That, in turn, had helped him move past his rather bloodthirsty past somewhat. At least the voices had become quieter since his arrival here.

"You wish to ask me questions. Ask, and I shall give answers," the elf said, his voice solemn as he looked straight into her eyes. She had earned more than the truth from him for all that she had done for him.

Shani stopped talking and could only stare back at him, her mouth remaining surprisingly quiet when it had become obvious she would burst if she didn't inquire about what she wished to know. Her eyes moved from his face to his hands, still holding onto her hips, and Iorveth couldn't help but think back to the first time they had been this close to each other, the first time he had given her a look into his soul. He wondered if she remembered it as well.

"Who is seanmháthair?" the redhead finally asked, pulling Iorveth out of his reverie.

Slightly taken aback by this question, Iorveth had to remind himself that he had promised to answer all her questions. And anyway, perhaps it would do him some good to speak of his grandmother, to remember what she had taught him and what he had promised her, and so he opened his mouth and began to speak...

* * *

 _ **4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42** _

* * *

His green eyes bore into his opponent as he stood as still like a tree on a windless day , barely even breathing in his moment of utter concentration. He tried to become one with the planet, with his surroundings, so he could strike with the speed of a slyzard's tail and the power of a troll... The wind stirred all of a sudden, playing with the ends of his dark hair, waving it into his eyes, but he didn't even blink at the interruption and tried to just ignore it.

Without warning, the elf shot forward, his arms stretched out in front of him as he all but dove towards his enemy. The ground rose to meet him, and he landed face-first in the mud, his empty hands becoming buried into the dirt. The rabbit he had wanted to catch had managed to evade his grasp, and now frolicked off, its tail wiggling as if taunting him for his failure. The umpteenth in a row already.

Iorveth glowered at the animal as it disappeared from his sight, cursing it in very colourful manners but not uttering a single world out loud for fear of who might hear him, but the sound of Granuaile laughing caught his attention. Her presence, right next to her all of a sudden, surprised him, but he tried his best not to show this.

"That rabbit ought tae better than to pick fights with those who are beneath its size," she remarked with a grin, and Iorveth moved to glare at her instead.

His gaze did nothing to deter the old woman, however, and she bent down to ruffle his hair. Grumbling under his breath, he tried to swat her hand away, flinging mud everywhere as he did so, which only made his grandmother laugh even more.

"Don't worry, Vethy boy. One day you'll catch that rabbit," she promised him, her smirk turning into a soft smile as she helped the boy off the ground.

By this age, he had already proven himself inept when it came to trapping. He lacked the patience to make them, and he lacked the ingenuity to be a trap himself, and his shortcomings annoyed him to no end. Why couldn't he be like the other elves, as graceful and strong and smart?

Instead, Granuaile had promised him that she would teach him in archery, to see if he had any luck with that. And as it would turn out, he did, better than anybody could have expected.

* * *

Yet again the ground, which had become a good old friend to Iorveth by now, rose to greet him, and once more he found himself with his face in the mud. This time, however, he immediately pushed himself back up to scowl at his sparring partner who had just launched him to the floor.

Isengrim moved his wooden blade through the air with nimble flourishes, a cocky smile on his face as he watched Iorveth. The elf barely registered the presence of Granuaile somewhere off to the side, juggling a couple of apples.

"Do ye know where ye went wrong?" she asked mildly, pinning his attention to her even as the apples danced in her hands.

Iorveth had to swallow his resentment for a moment before replying, "I failed to match Isengrim's acrobatics and power."

His grandmother shook her head with an exasperated sight and tossed both of them an apple.

Isengrim dodged it, spinning around and bringing his blade around to smash the fruit out of the air with the flat of his blade. Iorveth, on the other hand, simply ducked slightly and brought the tip of his sword up to skewer the apple on the tip.

"Time for a break wee lads. Go and enjoy yer apple," Granuaile said, her gaze on Isengrim before she made her way over to Iorveth and sat down next to him, dragging him along as she did so. Without waiting, she began, "Ye know, the goal isn't to match Isengrim. In anything. It never has been. You don't have his agility, nor his talent for dual-wielding. You're no acrobat. But your failure wasn't in that you couldn't match Isengrim, it was in that you _tried_ to match him in the first place."

Iorveth freed the apple from his sword, its juices slipping down his fingers as well as his blade, and he frowned at the stickiness but didn't move to throw it away or to eat it. He understood her words, though that didn't make it any easier to bear. One could almost call Isengrim a prodigy, a blade master like few in existence. Even if he tried his very best, deep down he knew he'd never beat his friend, and though his grandmother had meant her words in a reassuring manner, Iorveth couldn't help but feel angry at the situation. Envious, even. Why couldn't _he_ have been born with such talents as well?

"Yer talent lies in archery my boy," Granuaile continued, ignoring the sour expression on her grandson's face. "It lies in precision. Just look at what you did to your apple. I've seen you hit your targets from a hundred and fifty yards away, maybe more, as if it were nothing. You made it look _easy_. Isengrim may be good with a bow, but even he can't match you in that."

The elf's ears pricked up at that, and he moved his gaze from the apple to his grandmother, not allowing himself to feel reassured and happy just yet. "Truly?"

"Truly." Granuaile nodded her head. "So stop concentrating on beating your opponent, and instead rely on your own strengths. It's always a good thing to understand your opponent's prowess, of course, and to learn the basics so that you can adapt it to your own style, but only to counter that of your enemy."

His grin finally broke free, and Iorveth couldn't help but feel a surge of pride rush through him at his grandmother's praise. She had always known what to tell him to get him out of his rut.

From then on out, Granuaile began to guide him along a path to create his own style, based specifically on his own talent: precision. This she had done with the help of one of his friends, Liaolin.

* * *

It was with Liaolin and Isengrim with whom Iorveth left to join the war against the dh'oine. Just before leaving, he gave his grandmother one last hug, his arms wrapped around her waist in an attempt to maintain a certain distance between them, while his grandmother's arms wound themselves around his neck, trying to pull him closer. He dared not voice his complaints vocally, knowing that it would only make matters worse, and he did not want that, especially with his friends still nearby.

When the hold of her arms weakened, Iorveth hoped that she had finished her farewell, only for her to plant her hands on his cheeks and pull him in for one last kiss. Iorveth noted that he had to duck down for her to reach his face with her lips in the first place, but he tried not to dwell on that notion for much longer.

"All right then," she said, most likely more to herself than to him. Her lips had taken on the form of a thin line once more, an expression she had used much over the course of the past few months in which Iorveth had trained for this moment. She did not approve of his decision and had not tried being subtle about it either. Granuaile did not want him to leave for something like this, and she had told him enough times for him to know her speeches inside out by now.

Still, no matter how often she had tried to dissuade him from his path, Iorveth had met her stubbornness with his own headiness, and so she had never actually tried to directly convince him to stay home. For that, Iorveth was thankful, because that would have only made their final moments together worse than they deserved to be.

"Promise me one thing, though," she said just before he freed himself from her grasp and turned to join his companions.

"What is it?"

"Promise that you'll remember everything I've taught you. Swear it!" She pinched his cheek and gave it a pull, as if that would emphasise her point.

Iorveth winced and swatted her hand away, raising a brow at his grandmother as he did so. "I swear it, on my honour as Aen Seidhe."

Satisfied, Granuaile nodded. Then she lifted her hand and ruffled his hair one final time before allowing herself to smile.

"All right. Go and do your thing then. And be sure to come back some time," she said, ignoring the tears that filled her eyes as she waved him goodbye.

Before his eyes began to water as well, he turned away and returned her wave as he made his way towards Isengrim, Liaolin, and the war that would destroy everything.

* * *

 _ **4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42** _

* * *

Back in the present, Iorveth stared at his calloused fingers, thinking back to all the deeds he had done after he had left his grandmother, and sighed. In the end he had forgotten everything that had ever mattered after all. He had _sworn_ on his pride as Aen Seidhe that he wouldn't turn his back on his grandmother's teachings, yet he had done so anyway. What would Granuaile think of him if she saw him now, like this?

"Liaolin, he... I didn't stop him. And now all I can do is remember the past and lament the fact that I had not taken Granuaile's lessons to heart," he murmured, still staring at his hands. Though they looked clean, Iorveth could only see the red that stained them, and would do so for the rest of his life.

"What... what did he do? This Liaolin?" Shani asked in a soft voice. She placed a hand on his shoulder, as if that would make the pain go away, but she pulled it back when she saw the look Iorveth levelled at her.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that I didn't stop him when I should have. He got consumed by it all, by the dh'oine and by the war, and he got what he deserved. _That's_ what matters." Iorveth all but snapped, forgetting for a moment that she had not meant to insult him.

Shani shivered at hearing his words and wrapped her arms around herself. The elf didn't say anything to that, didn't know what he could say to make her feel better, and instead he looked up and eyed the stars in the distance. His face went from a pained expression to a blank mask as he continued to contemplate everything he had done up till then, and whether it had all been for naught after all.

The two friends remained silent for a while, until Shani surprised him by asking, "You... you were at Brenna as well, were you not?"

Moving his gaze over to her, he waited a few moments before nodding his head. "It would be hard for me to forget about it, seeing as I have been given a souvenir I see whenever I lay gaze upon my reflection."

The human glanced at the scarf covering his empty eye socket before she, too, stared up at the starry sky, and began to recount what had happened to her back then.

* * *

 _ **4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42**_

* * *

"Shani," a voice called, seemingly from out of no where. "Hey, Shani." It almost felt like a fly, annoying her by buzzing in her face. "Shani, get up. What are you doing here?" She tried to swat at it, to get it away from her. In her mind, all she could see was blood, and dead people, and more blood, and dying people, and even more blood... And she could hear screams, and yells, and somewhere a fire seemed to rage as well... She had to go on, she had to see to her patients, she had to... "Oh for the love of..."

A splash of water woke her right up, and she jumped up faster than she knew her muscles could work, her back as straight as a tree. Once she had rubbed her eyes clear of any redundant liquid, she blinked a few times and froze at the sight of her mentor, a halfling with shaggy brown hair who went by the name Rusty, standing in front of her, his hands on his hips and a stern look on his usually friendly face.

"I-I can explain!" she called out and waved her hands in front of her, but Rusty only raised an eyebrow at her, his warm brown eyes filled with scepticism.

"If you were _this_ tired, then you should have said so. There are still a few empty sleeping spots," he said.

"But-"

"No buts. The patients have no need for a half-dead medic. They need you at your best, or at least as good as you can possibly get with this bloody war going on."

Shani shook her head and opened her mouth to resist once more, but suddenly her words failed her, and so instead she shut her mouth again and nodded her head with a sigh. "Fine."

And so the medic went to search for one of the spots he had mentioned, and found one in the main tent, where the patients lay who had already gotten most of the treatment they had needed. On her way there, she found it surprisingly easy to ignore the yammering noises of patients still in pain and in need of treatment, her body too tired to care in that moment. This showed when she fell asleep the very moment her head hit her make-shift pillow, and she found herself too tired even to dream.

It couldn't have been much later when she woke up, and though she no longer felt exhausted, she knew that she was far from well-rested. Frowning and with her eyes still closed, she tried to go back to sleep, confused as to why she had woken up in the first place. Just as she fell back into the beckoning abyss of sleep, however, something hit her, and she sat up in one fluid motion. Her eyes at once found the culprit: a dwarf who now held his arm in the air, a small pebble in the palm of his hand. He didn't look guilty, or even as though she had caught him; he simply chucked that stone as well, this time hitting her on her shin, making the redhead wince.

She remembered that she had amputated the left arm of this dwarf only a week before, and he most likely held her accountable for this deed. It would seem that he planned on having his revenge by raining pebbles on her with his good arm for the rest of her life.

"Now, now, that's no way to treat a lady!" a familiar voice called out, and she was surprised to see an elf she had been treating kneeling next to her, a hand on her shoulder. "And most certainly not to a lady as pretty as this one."

Her cheeks flushed, but he didn't let her speak even a single word as he pushed her back down so that she lay on her back once more. Almost as if out of no where, the elf produced a thin blanket and covered her with it, all the while placing a silencing finger to her lips whenever she attempted to protest.

He let himself fall down next to her, where he sat down with his legs crossed. Not much later, the sound of a flute floated through the room, and Shani's eyes closed even when she tried her best to keep them open. She had patients to treat, people to save... The blood, the screams...

She forced her eyes open again, reprimanding herself for even thinking of going to sleep, only to realise that another couple of hours must have passed. The flute tune had changed to a different song, and when she looked around, the sight of the elf still sitting next to her surprised her.

Slowly, she sat up, rubbing at her face with one hand as she pushed herself up with the other.

"Who... who _are_ you?" she asked him, mostly referring to his art of flute-playing.

He lifted the instrument, a simple bone flute of human craft, from his mouth, and the medic almost felt disappointed by the sudden lack of music. "You need not know my name, only that I am part of the Vrihedd Brigade."

"Ah, is that how you get hurt then?" Shani asked him, gesturing at his wounds. He had broken one of his legs and cracked a few ribs, which was why he had been in their care for a while now. It confused her that she hadn't talked to him any earlier, and also why he would suddenly keep her company like this.

The elf nodded. "Indeed. My horse looked like a porcupine at the end of that battle, with me still on its back... Though I suppose that is also why I'm here in the company of a beautiful lady such as yourself in the first place. Had I been able to continue fighting, I might as well be dead right now. A blessing in disguise, perhaps?"

The obvious nature of his flirting made Shani burst out into laughter, which in turn drew out a grin on the elf's face. For the first time in far too long, the redhead could feel the tension disappearing from her muscles, and she relaxed in the presence of this charming elf.

However, just in that moment she heard a commotion coming from outside the tent, and she got up again, knowing she had to get back to work.

"Thank you," she said before she left him to instead help a couple of medics carry a patient with a spear in his gut to the tent designated for such cases.

As it happened, that would not be the last time she met him. For the next couple of days, she would start to take better care of herself, much to Rusty's delight, by taking more breaks. She spent this time in the elf's company, just talking about all different kinds of things - where they came from, what they did growing up, what they wanted to do later on in life - and she even learnt a bit of the Elder Speech from him.

And perhaps something more began to grow between the two of them, though she did not know his name and he had not shown whether he knew hers or not. Against her better judgement, she even shared a kiss or two with him, and she wondered if perhaps this war would end after all. Perhaps she could... help this elf with his cause. The gods knew that they would need a medic if the time ever came. Though it would seem that the gods had other plans for her.

* * *

She stood at one of the exits to the tent, her dirty and sweaty palms clutching at the cloth of the structure as she felt the cool night air against her exposed skin. Though she stared at the world outside of the tent, she no longer noticed the fires raging all about the city, consuming whatever stood in its path. It could be considered a miracle that none of them had reached this section of the town yet, but who knew for how much longer that would last. Blind to the fires and deaf to the screams of people lying in the streets or running for their lives, Shani simply stared at the sky, even though the smoke that covered the city like a blanket made it impossible to see anything of it. Not that it mattered, for the only thing she could see were the dead bodies in her mind, and all the could hear were the moans and groans that came from behind her.

To anybody looking at her, it would have seemed as though she were completely and utterly void. She watched the world outside burn with empty eyes, her face a blank mask that did not betray the storm of emotions whirling inside of her. Despair, sadness, anger, hopelessness and fear, fighting each other for dominance.

Screams pulled the woman out of her stupor, screams that originated much closer to her than all the others did. She turned, her movements sluggish in her exhaustion, and saw that another medic who had been helping her take care of her patients stood slumped over a sword, its blade, red with blood, protruding from her back.

The wielder lowered his sword, allowing the body to slide down and land in a heap on the ground with a dull thud. With a rather unnecessary and flamboyant movement, the knight flicked some of the blood onto the floor, creating a red half circle before him. As he stepped over blood and body alike, Shani found her senses slowly but surely returning to her. She recognized him as belonging to the Order of the White Rose, and she could barely hear his voice over the sound of her heart thumping loudly in her ribcage.

"Oi! You there! Yes, you with the pretty face!" He pointed a gloved finger in the direction of Shani, as if it wasn't already obvious enough that he meant her, the only other standing person.

"What is it?" Shani asked, her voice coarse from disuse. "Do you... do you require medical attention?"

The knight sneered at her, and the despair and fear and sadness and anger and hopelessness from before returned, and it almost felt as though someone had just punched her in the gut. She bit her lip until she tasted blood when she saw him look around the room and noticed the dark look on his face.

"I will kill every last Nilfgaardian patient and Squirrel in this room, and you will not stop me, understood?" he said and he pointed his sword at her in warning, blood still dripping down its side and splattering to the floor. He levelled her with a gaze that promised a lot of pain if she thought of disobeying him. "And don't even think about trying to hide any from me."

Shani could only stare and watch as he made his way over to the closest patient, a Nilfgaardian soldier who had already lost his legs in this terrible war. The man whose name Shani did not know had been on the way to... well, not exactly recovery, but at least survival, and he had suffered many restless nights for it. He did not seem aware of his surroundings as the knight hovered over him before lowering his sword into his chest. Death must have come over the poor soul almost immediately.

From the corner of her eye, the woman noticed her mentor standing in the third and final entrance to the tent. The halfling's clothes, usually bright and the epitome of tidiness, looked dirty and disheveled. He hadn't had enough time to take a break, much less change his clothes, despite the fact that he had constantly annoyed Shani about just that.

"Ru-" she began, seeing what little color her mentor had had left in his face disappear at the sight before him. He held a scalpel in his hand before she could say any more, and he flung it at the knight with the precision that only a halfling could muster.

It struck him in the centre of his chest after he had turned to welcome the newcomer. If he hadn't worn his armor, and if Rusty hadn't thrown a mere scalpel, he would have fallen to the floor, dead. But he was wearing his armor and Rusty had thrown a mere scalpel, and so he plucked it out of his chain mail, gave it a look of disdain before flinging it to the side. It hit the floor with a thunk, scarcely missing another patient, who squirmed at the sight of it but dared not make a fuss about it.

This had been the wrong thing to do, though for who exactly, Shani would find out soon enough.

Tired and having sacrificed so much to help these people, people this knight would try to kill after all his hard work, Rusty let out a yell before charging towards the enemy, but his close combat skills could never match his ability with throwing weapons. His opponent managed to kick him to the side without even breaking a sweat, and the halfling's head smacked against the ground with a sickening crunch before his body went slack. Something inside the redheaded woman snapped at the sight of it all.

"Is that all you've got? If you wish to challenge the law, you have to be better than _that_ ," the knight spat with raised eyebrows.

He turned back just in time to see Shani's fist come flying towards him, but due to her anger the attack was sloppy and went wide. The knight dodged the punch with ease and threw his own fist at her instead. It hit its mark and sent the woman spiralling to the ground, blood filling her mouth as she did so.

"Shani!" a voice called out from somewhere beside her, and a hand appeared on her shoulder. Even with her consciousness fading, she could recognise the voice of the Vrihedd lieutenant, and from his weak grasp she gathered that he shouldn't even have gotten out of bed in the first place. She pictured his smile even as her vision faded.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, she heard the voice of the knight, footsteps approaching her, and fear began to fill her at her inability to move. The elf's hand disappeared from her back, which only intensified her fright, and she heard him say something, but his voice was too thick to understand his words. Her tongue forced her to swallow and the bitter taste of her blood brought her back to the world of the conscious for a bit.

"Shut your trap and die quietly," the knight growled.

Shani managed to open an eye, only to notice the elf kneeling in front of her, posing himself as an obstacle between herself and the knight. She could only watch as the enemy began to move, and he seemed to do so at the pace of a snail, yet still she was not capable of getting up and stopping him. She stared as the elf, her patient, her _friend_ , the one who had helped her cope with everything that had happened, was impaled by that damned sword.

A strange noise that sounded suspiciously like a gurgle filled the air, together with the splattering of even more blood to the already stained ground. The Vrihedd lieutenant wheezed a few words that Shani couldn't quite catch - and this sound would haunt her for the rest of her life - before he fell to his face.

The knight laughed out loud, clutching at his belly with one hand as if to try and contain his mirth. He laughed and laughed, choked on his spittle, coughed, and then he laughed some more.

Finally regaining control over her body, she clenched her hands into fists so tight she feared they might burst, and was surprised to find that she held a scalpel in her right one. When or why she had taken it out she did not know, but in that moment her despair and fear and sadness and anger and hopelessness turned into determination, and she knew what she had to do.

Paying Shani no more heed than he would have a mouse staring at him, the knight grinned as the last spurts of life sustaining essence left the elf's body. He rolled the body onto its back and stomped on its chest in an almost casual manner, producing a loud cracking sound as bones snapped beneath his boot. As he did so, he continued to giggle like a school girl, and after a while he threw his head back... until a blade pierced his scrotum all the way to the hilt.

Shani lifted her gaze to stare at him with empty eyes. When he looked down, confusion written on his face, she twisted the scalpel in her hands and listened as he let out a scream filled with agony. After she pulled her weapon away the knight fell to the ground, his hands clutching at the wound as he continued his bellowing.

The redhead did not allow him any rest, however, for at once she began to crawl away from him, her mind as blank as her expression. She ignored his shrill screams and, on hands and knees, made her way to her fallen friend in order to cradle his body to her chest.

The light that always shone in his eye had disappeared, and his face remained void of that grin he had always kept for her. Blood, faint twitches and the stench of the recently diseased was all that remained. He was dead, and he'd never smile for her again, or compliment her on her appearance despite the fact that she looked like a moving corpse more often than not these days. Echoes of the pain that had filled him just before the life had left him still haunted his features.

The medic's hands began to shake as emotions she couldn't possibly describe flooded her system, and a new purpose began to fill her like a wildfire in the summer, a need that she had to quench. She tenderly released the elf's body, caressing his hair and his ears one last time before turning her attention back to the knight, who still lived.

He had somehow managed to staunch the bleeding and now lay on his back, groaning and moaning, though no one seemed interested in helping him.

Once more on her hands and knees, Shani crawled towards him, her scalpel still in her tight grip. The blood on it made a trail on the ground and her hands left red prints wherever they touched the ground, but the redhead only had eyes for the man lying before her.

* * *

 _ **4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42**_

* * *

"When... When I was done with him t-they couldn't even identify him at least not... not by his face... They said that Ithat I stabbed him at least twenty-six times although I guess it was really hard to tell... given how very little there was left of his head by then..." Shani couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze as she finished retelling the tale.

Iorveth forced her out of her memories by placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking her. He frowned; from the paleness of her cheeks, he realised that this had shocked her greatly back then. Though something like this seemed like nothing to the unit leader who had murdered so many people he could not even remember all their faces, he had to be blind to not see the meaning behind it for someone like Shani. The redhead was the kind of person to follow the law no matter what, and to have the law itself confront her in such a manner that she had had to choose between her patients and doing what the law demanded... It must have made quite the impact to see her own decision in such a manner.

"I do not know how it must have felt for you to do such a thing, but I can imagine it, since perhaps I have gone through similar things..." he began, carefully choosing his words as he went along. "But I believe that you did the right thing. It was either him or your patients, and what worth is there in killing people who cannot defend themselves in the first place? He couldn't have been a very good person in the first place."

Yet as he said so, he couldn't help but think back to all the times _he_ had been the knight, killing all the dh'oine he came across, whether they had two legs or one, whether they were awake or unconscious.

The look on his face must have told her enough, for soon she changed the subject to something else. "How... how did you meet Geralt?"

In that instance, Shani's complete person became clear to him, and for a moment he understand her inside and outside. From what she had said before, before all these memories, one could only describe her relationship with Geralt as strained. Yet for her to steer the conversation in that direction, simply because he had looked stricken...

"Certain circumstances brought us together. We met in Flotsam and travelled to Vergen together. I suppose you could call us something that resembles friends," he answered, not wanting her emotional sacrifice to go to waste, though he did not tell her of the sword. He thought it best not to tell anybody if it did not need saying.

Shani seemed to understand that, and she nodded before averting her gaze. "Well, as I told you before... I fell in love with him. But, as there often is, there was another woman, a sorceress. I asked him to choose, and he chose her. Though I suppose it did not happen exactly like that... There was also a boy, and not in the way you might think; I found him nearby Vizima, which was also when I first met Geralt after... well, after he had died. The boy, Alvin, had some sort of magical talent. I know that Triss was the logical option, and I knew it too, but it just... hurt, in some way. Love isn't supposed to be logical after all, is it?"

She looked at him again, and Iorveth could see the pain she had felt back then, and which she felt even now. The need to be desired, to feel wanted... He believed that he, too, knew how she felt.

And before he knew it, he leant towards her and kissed her.

At first, it was short and sweet; a simple peck before he pulled back again. From her wide eyes, it was obvious he had surprised her with this. Perhaps she hadn't believed that a man such as himself could be this gentle. He smirked at the thought, and he stopped his retreat to watch her process the situation, their lips but a hair's breadth apart. Just then, a different kind of emotion filled her eyes, in that peculiar combination of green, and blue, and before Iorveth could regret what he had done, she moved back in and planted her lips on his.

This time, however, neither of them pulled back.

Shani lifted a hand and placed it on the back of his neck, as if testing the waters. At the same time, Iorveth opened his mouth to let out his tongue, which she almost gratefully accepted by greeting it with her own. As their tongues twisted around each other, almost dancing together, the elf lifted a hand to reach for a breast, squeezing the soft flesh. The fingers that lay on the back of his neck curled up, scratching him lightly as the medic let out a soft moan.

At the sound that left her, something inside of him stirred. He had felt it when watching her hips sway, but never to such an extent that it caused an actual, physical reaction within him. It had been... far too long since he last felt something like that.

He grabbed her arms and pushed her away from him then, breaking the kiss rather abruptly.

"We cannot- we should not- at least not _here_ ," he tried to say, but Shani didn't want to hear any of it.

The medic decided to take matters into her own hands and pulled herself free from his grasp, which he had kept admittedly light in order to stop himself from hurting her. Once liberated, she pushed him onto his back and, holding herself up with one hand, climbed on top of him. Meanwhile, she undid his trousers with her other hand before slipping it into his pants.

She cupped him lightly, felt him stiffening beneath her touch. Before he knew it his mouth latched onto her neck, sucking, licking and nipping at the skin until he had heard just about all the possible sounds this woman could make, her ministrations down there all but forgotten. Not that it mattered, for the noises leaving her throat goaded him on, and after so long being inactive it did not take much to get him started.

When enough had become enough, Iorveth pushed the medic off of him, ignoring her as her moans turned into whines. Her protests died off when his mouth found hers again, and this time there was nothing soft about the kiss as he practically devoured her. At the same time, he pushed his trousers down so that they pooled around his ankles. Not much later his hand slid up her thigh, pushing her dress out of the way so that he had access to her underclothes and almost tearing them away when he found them.

In the meantime, Shani's hands were all over him, most likely relishing in the feel of his soft skin beneath her digits and the way his muscles rippled whenever he moved or she touched him just so. The elf couldn't help but smirk into the kiss at how much she seemed to enjoy the amount of control she had over the way his body reacted to her touch.

With one hand he supported himself while with the other he guided himself to her core, never breaking the kiss. When his tip brushed against her entrance, he cracked open one eye to stare down at her sweaty, dazed form. Iorveth hesitated, unsure as he hovered over her entrance. In a split second decision, he broke the kiss just and grabbed her thighs, using her momentary surprise to flip her around in one fluid motion, the sudden movement making his muscles groan. She squealed when she felt her body turn, her hardened nubs now brushing against the ground.

Seeing her on her ass lifted high in the air and legs spread open, he couldn't hold himself back any longer and slid into her gradually, the movement eliciting a pained grunt from him. Shani groaned and ground herself back into him, trembling as he filled her and stretched her walls to capacity and a little beyond with his size.

She bit her lip to muffle a pained gasp, but the sound did not escape Iorveth's sharp ears, and he could tell she did so to keep back a loud yell of mixed pain and desire. But in the end she failed when it spilled from her mouth in short, ragged gasps. For her sake - well, also for his own sake, but mostly for hers - he kept his strokes long and slow, though after a few moments as their bodies adjusted to better accommodate one another, he quickened the pace. Each wet slap of their flesh connecting was accompanied by a groan, and Shani arched her back trying to meet his thrusts.

From the moans that soon replaced the groans, the elf reckoned that his partner now began to enjoy their joining as well, though in the heat of the moment, as he slipped out of her and re-entered her, that did not happen to be a priority. If she truly did not like it, he expected her to stop him.

When he straightened his back, her whimpers echoed in the night and he moved his hands to grasp her hips, his fingers digging into the skin as he grit his teeth. Using her body as leverage, he tried to go even deeper inside of her. Shani gasped and shuddered, groaning as he filled her, and she did her best to meet his thrusts despite the quick pace he had set, never reacting to the pain his nails must have caused her.

It was getting good, really, really damned good. Far too soon, Shani felt the coiling heat gathering just below her navel, and those tingles that had been absent for too long began to build, spreading to her fingertips and down her legs with every additional stroke. From the quickening of his pace and from his panting she could tell that he had arrived at the edge as well.

She blinked sweat and strands of crimson hair from her gaze and quickly clamped a hand over her own breast, shuddering as she expertly began manipulating her own oversensitive flesh with one hand, while carefully balancing herself with the other so she didn't end up eating a mouthful of dirt. Now if she could only keep this up as Iorveth filled her, then maybe...

But it was not meant to be, for just as she began to tweak her nipple, the elf's hands clamped down on her hips with enough force to bruise her. He let out a roar and delivered one final thrust, his already impressive girth expanding a little more, before seemingly imploding within her.

This time, the force of his nails clawing at her flesh made her wince, though feeling of her skin tearing all but disappeared in comparison to the pressure of Iorveth's seed flooding her innards. For a moment, Shani thought the feeling of that surge alone might push her over the edge... but then Iorveth collapsed on top of her, gasping. He planted his arms by her sides, barely keeping himself from pinning her down entirely, and his slick member slipped from her depths as it began to soften. He sighed before he fell next to her, panting like he had just run a marathon.

For a moment, she wanted to be upset with him. She had been so close! But to see the proud, battle-hardened elf brought low - humbled even - by one such as herself, a small and slender redhead... It was an empowering experience to say the least, not to mention amusing, and she couldn't help the titter that escaped her throat.

Iorveth's eye opened and he pierced her with a frantic gaze, looking very much as though he wanted to say something, _anything_ to defend his performance, but he still felt far too weak to do so. That only seemed to make her giggling worse.

 _Probably due to sudden protein deficiency_ , Shani thought as she clutched at herself, trying to catch her breath even as she examined her lower body. He had unloaded an incredible amount into her; it must have been a considerable amount of time since he'd last been with anyone, so she supposed she couldn't blame him... too much.

Still, the elf had been far from polite when they had first met, despite the fact that she had saved his life. She intended to keep this moment fresh in her memory for a long time.

To rub the situation in, the medic couldn't stop herself from mussing up his hair as much as she could with his scarf still wound around his head. The elf grumbled something under his breath as he crawled next to her and placed his head on her bosom yet again. As she listened to his breathing even out, Shani raised a finger to trace it along the edge of his ear and watch it twitch, until she, too, fell asleep under the bright peaceful light of the stars.

 **The Grinning Psychopath: WHOOOO! Heh the pair of em finally got it on! heheheh. about damn time some of you probably think.**

 **Eh hope you enjoyed this chapter. The majority of the credit for this piece of art goes to the lovely, illustrious and exubriant author Valoja, who wrote up most of this while me and Ravana... well i've been too lazy, and Ravana's been busy unfortunately with life.**

 **Those of you who enjoyed this story please go give Valoja and her story Tears of War my warmest regards, and a round of applause and all that for her epic work.**

 **AlexanderRavana: I have no excuses. Well besides University starting and all that jazz. However, I hope that you will enjoy this new chapter and all the saucyness, yeah. This will be upgraded, slowly. But it will.**

 **As for Valoja, she's a gem, isn't she? Just helping out like that isn't something everyone would do and she deserves all the attention of our readers.**


	10. Update of a sort!

**Hello all. The Grinning Psychopath here. I just wanted to assure all of you that this story has not been forgotten, nor will it be. Believe me, i'm too invested in it in so many ways. eh however college, and writer's block has been screwin with us.**

 **Eh progress was halted for a while, but ehh its starting up again. Got good bits written up for the next few chapters, got them mostly plotted out. just having some issues with dialogue and whatnot.**

 **Eh if anyone would be up for helping us write this, it'd be much appreciated.**

 **In the meantime, i'm gonna be going over the content of the past chapters and revising everything here and there. correcting the misspellings, maybe fix the dates up a tad, probably add some extra content. *shrug* that kinda stuff. in the meantime. on my own account I have published a couple Witcher stories that are somewhat tied to this one. one of which is yet another lemon between Shani and Iorveth, which will hopefully tide you guys over a bit.**

 **Toodles.**

 **PS. I err am not kidding about anyone willing to help. if you're any good at dialogue, fight scenes... or any kinda writing. please step forward. Send a message to The Grinning Psychopath and He... I... err We'll get back to you as soon as possible.**


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